Bound
by Pet Me Feed Me
Summary: All he wanted was to be able to live, to love, to feel truly human. She was there to grant his wish. GaaHina asylum fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I couldn't help it. This muse has drained almost all of my inspiration from College Quirks. One day, I whipped out my iTouch and started it. And one chapter became three, then seven… I've almost finished this story. It's my fave so far, especially seeing as it allows me to access my OTP again, GaaHina. Hope you like.

**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own Naruto. Sorry to disappoint.

**Chapter One**

They bound him today.

The shackles are cold and rough against his skin, and far too small. They are the same that they have used to restrain him since he was fourteen, and he is older now, taller and broader. The metal digs into his skin— when the attack is over and they remove them, his wrists will be red raw and bruised.

He focuses on the discomfort of his bonds. It makes his fight against the monster inside of him a little easier when he doesn't concentrate wholly on it, which is usually impossible. The thing is loud, it screams until his skull feels like it'll shatter from the force of the sound trapped within it. When it is feeling particularly irritable, it acts on his body, teasing his organs and forcing his limbs to snap into unnatural contortions, sending searing pain into his head, his chest, his stomach. It demands his attention, and when he finally answers its challenges, the struggle for dominance is often violent. In the end he is left spent and battered, left to lie back and wait for the healers to slink inside and heal his body again.

Usually he counts the bricks in the walls around him, but he's long ago finished (there are 5,365, white-washed. Occasionally the monster tries to paint them crimson. By the next morning, someone has always washed it away, and the monster, upset that its creations have been destroyed, starts over, making new splash patterns that are only sad imitations of the old.)

The doctors ask him if he is feeling better. He stares blankly; they know the answer already. Pain is such a constant now that he no longer complains of it. The painkillers they give him are only physically numbing, and Shuukaku takes it's greatest pleasure in tormenting his mind.

Sometimes, he wishes that he had never given himself up. He hadn't wanted to kill anymore; he was sick of being feared, of being alone. Naruto had been like him, but he had friends and people who cared for him. He had wanted that too, desperately. It was he who had dragged himself to the hospital, he who had given up his gourd and allowed them to lock him in a room far from even a grain of sand. He who had pleaded, voice raspy ("Fix me, please, or kill me") to be healed. He had known how impossible his request sounded, had seen the doubt in the doctor's faces, but Naruto's optimism is contagious, and he truly believed they could help him.

Perhaps Kyuubi was a more benevolent beast. Naruto had never complained of his demon tormenting him, and he had assumed that it was because the boy was so strong, so unbreakable. But maybe Shuukaku is simply far crueler.

The door creaks open; it is shielded with chakra and cannot be touched from the inside. His doctor glides in, glasses set strictly on the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowed. His face is weathered and beaten, but free of scars- he's a civilian.

Gaara's body lurches forward instinctively, he drops to the floor, and Shuukaku shudders in excitement; it can smell live flesh and coursing blood and thinks it delicious.

"Sabaku-san," he says, looking with something between disgust and pity at the writhing figure at his feet. Gaara grits his teeth and groans— hasn't he warned them to stay out on days like these? It only makes it worse— and flashes the man a glare. For a moment, it's lethal, but a second later he's won the fight and lies still, panting wildly.

The doctor smiles, unaffected. "Are you ready to listen now, Sabaku-san?"

Gaara growls; the sound is faint and fades away before it has a chance to become threatening. Listening, waiting, fighting. For the past four years, that is all he has known.

"We have...tried many methods to extract Shuukaku now," the doctor says, tapping the eraser of his pencil steadily against his clipboard. "And, as you know, we have had very little success."

"You mean you've failed," Gaara croaks as Shuukaku clenches down on something somewhere near his liver. Bile stings the back of his throat.

"Yes," the doctor seems unperturbed by this confession, though his mouth tightens. "But... We have one last option."

Gaara pushes back the emotion that tries to rush up his throat- it's fruitless to believe, it will only hurt later if he allows himself to hope. Nevertheless, when he speaks again, there is an ounce of life in his gravelly, underused voice.

"What will you try this time?" No more new, untested jutsus, or shock treatments, or unfortunate therapists he'll almost devour in his little white room. No more cutting him open in an attempt to find a physical manifestation of Shuukaku hiding inside him...

The doctor clears his throat. "We will need you to learn to...control Shuukaku. Live with it."

He freezes. "L-live with Shuukaku?" His voice fades on the last word; Shuukaku is roaring triumphantly in his head, and his glee drowns him out.

Gaara can win individual battles. But the war? It is impossible. His opponent is age-old and backed by the powers of hell. He has broken down thousands of unfortunates before him. It is only a matter of time before Shuukaku destroys him as well.

He shakes violently, suddenly. Shuukaku is fighting again, fighting hard. Pale green eyes flash black and smooth white skin turns brown and pocked. Gaara is screaming, but from the beast's mouth it sounds like a roar. The doctor steps back in horror, he shouts "Hyuuga-sama!" before crumpling back against the wall as Shuukaku jerks forward, his razor claws barely inches from the doctor's trembling gut.

But he doesn't reach him. Instead, he feels his head snap back against the wall, and his half-transformed arms fall limp and useless against his sides. He howls aloud, his mouth opens wide and bears heavily into a fleshy shoulder, but that turns to smoke that is now dissipating through his teeth. It takes him a moment to realize that it was a clone.

His attacker—or savior, he supposes that the two can be congruous at times, steps into the room. It—she's a woman, he hasn't seen many of those in a while—offers a hand to the befallen medic. He accepts it shakily, his face still locked in terror, and lets her help him to his feet.

She whips shrewd eyes, pale as death, toward Gaara. There is no compassion in their depths.

"Does this happen often?" she asks coolly. The medic shakes his head wearily.

"This is only the third time this year," he murmurs.

The woman takes the clipboard gingerly from the doctor's sweating hands and flips idly through his medical record. She bites her lip once, but otherwise betrays no emotion. She reaches a blank page and finally looks directly at him.

"It should have worn off by now," she says flippantly. "Sabaku-san, do you think you can stand?"

Gaara looks up. The eyes he meets are cold and challenging and fearless. She tells him to stand and he feels compelled to obey; there is something authoritative and proud in her tone that makes her request sound like an order.

The chains drag up against the wall to allow him to stand. He rises to his feet slowly, staggering forward a step. She makes no move to help, just stares with those large eyes. Once he's up she settles into a crouch. One quick handsign and suddenly veins explode into view around her eyes. They pulse frighteningly, and this time, he feels like she's staring right through him.

Which, ironically, is precisely what she's doing.

For a moment, he stands, she stares, the medic shakes, and all three are silent. Shuukaku is grumpily murmuring, but his complaints are soft and nearly childish— it's rarely beaten down so quickly when it gains control, and the fact that two hits from a kunoichi have sent it back is a blow to it's ego.

"Lift your arms, Sabaku-san, yes, like that. Now hold."

She lifts the pencil and sketches something. It barely takes one minute, but soon she has produced what must be a diagram of what she sees. The veins recede, and she flashes the doctor a quick, reassuring smile. It comes out somehow demure, despite her rather commanding presence.

"I see you've installed chakra-depleting restraints." She says. Her voice, really, is childish; when she isn't giving orders, it is soft, unassuming, possibly even shy. The difference is alarming.

The doctor straightens his jacket and sniffs proudly. "The best quality we could find, Hyuuga-sama. It weakens him, so that when he goes into rages, he doesn't cause quite so much destruction."

The woman's eyes dart back to him again. She cocks her head down. "You can sit now," she says, and as though she's broken a spell, he drops down to his knees. The moment he's down, she gives her attention back to the doctor and pretends that he doesn't exist.

"You realize," she is saying now, pressing her eraser into her bottom lip, "That this is the absolute worst thing you can do to a Jinchuruki?"

It's amazing how her tone can be simultaneously gentle and acerbic. The doctor stiffens.

"What do you mean?"

"The chakra you're draining is his," she says simply. She points down to her picture. "His natural chakra. You're forcing him to tap into the demon's pool just to survive, and the more in touch he is with it's chakra, the more dependent he is on it to survive, the less control he has."

The doctor looks shocked by this revelation; the woman is calm, smiling, and Gaara, behind them, cannot stop that rush of hope from nearly making his head light.

"I suggest you find a way to access the demon's chakra, which will definitely be difficult, or use ordinary shackles instead."

The doctor is thinking; the effort makes him perspire. Sweat rolls in fat drops though the creases of his forehead.

Finally, he counters, "But he can break ordinary shackles."

The woman whips around and gives Gaara the same gentle smile with which she graced the doctor, and he can't help but wonder if his intelligence is about to be questioned as well.

It isn't. She looks him dead in the eye and asks, "You want to get better, don't you?"

He glares back for a moment, and then nods once.

"So, if we shackle you, you won't attempt to escape?"

He pauses again, this time because his throat is still raw and he has something to say.

"I...I don't want to hurt anyone."

Her smile becomes bright. "Ah. See? Order the shackles, please. Have them properly fitted. These ones must be cutting off his circulation."

"...But, Hyuuga-sama? He, erm, likes them tight."

Her eyes haven't left his. "That doesn't matter. He needs to learn to be strong."

She smiles again at the flash of anger on Gaara's face. Who does this woman think she is? She has never experienced this, can never empathize... Yet she acts as though she knows so much about his situation. It's confusing as hell.

"I will let you rest now, Sabaku-san," the woman says. "Expect me in three days. Your chakra should be repleted by then. We will begin your training then."

And then she leaves, the doctor trailing after her. The door shuts, and he is alone once more, in this white, silent room.

* * *

**A/N: **So. How'd you like it? Let me know. :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own Naruto.**

**Chapter Two**

He is walking down a pitch-black alley, which is a bad idea to begin with, a huge stuffed bear with both eyes missing dragging on the concrete behind him. His gaze is fixed on the ground; he's trying to remember the way back home, because he's wandered too far off again and nobody could be bothered to search for him.

Voices thicken the night; he glances up fleetingly and tugs the bear to his chest. It rests reassuringly against his shoulder, soft, but he can't help but think that it feels like a clothed corpse in his arms, hanging and lifeless. The beast within grumbles in agreement and reminds him just how hungry it is by sending a twinge of pain into his stomach. He grimaces; he's used to it; he looks down and whispers, _"It's okay, mother, soon," _and that's when Gaara realizes it's a nightmare.

Because when two civilian men accidentally turn into the alley, six-year-old Gaara turns into a monster.

He wakes up with sweat on his brow and the iron taste of blood on his tongue. Shuukaku is humming contentedly at the memory, thinking gleefully to the time before his host developed a conscience.

_'We were so close back then,'_ it tells him. He ignores it, instead massages his hands. The new shackles are light and barely substantial. They seem to be more for decor than anything else, and the woman was right— it's easier to fight Shuukaku now. He feels stronger, and he's only had them one night. Still, it isn't nearly enough to free him, and he sincerely hopes-dare he use the word— that this is not the last of her endeavors.

The door opens, and he looks up from his lap to one of the medics, a young man dressed entirely in white with brown hair down to his chin. Gaara recognizes him vaguely— he must have come in during an attack, washed the walls. The man gives him a somber nod and steps forward, a tray of food in hand. He sees Gaara's almost free hands and freezes, and at first Gaara believes it is in fear, but then he spies the Sunakagure headband tied around his waist and thinks better of it. He's simply debating whether to place the food on the floor next to him as always or give it to him directly.

Not looking up, Gaara extends both hands and feels the weight and coolness of the metal settle in his hands. There is a pause, footsteps, and then the click of the door closing.

Gaara spoons the hot soup into his mouth. His hands tremble as he lifts it to his mouth, and he realizes then that he's weak, hasn't eaten in three days, and can barely open his eyes from exhaustion. He hurriedly drains his soup from his bowl, knocks back his water like a shot, shoves the tray aside, and rolls onto his bedroll.

Right before he closes his eyes, he realizes he hasn't slept in weeks either.

* * *

"Sabaku-san."

The medic is here again, clipboard in tow. Today is a good day, he says. Those come every blue moon. For you, too? Does it still hurt? Do you want me to check for any internal bleeding again?

Gaara stares emptily back, barely listening. Of course it hurts, he wants to say. Isn't that the entire point of torture? It always hurts. And you know that you trying to fix anything won't change a thing.

He hates this man. He doesn't want to see the pity in his eyes again— it's patronizing, it's demeaning, and the little bit of pride in him reminds him that he is the Kage's son, that no matter how deplorable his situation is he's still royalty and damn well should be treated as such.

"Well, then. Hyuuga-sama will be here in two days. Be on your best behavior."

Gaara snarls, which is uncharacteristic because for once it comes from him and not Shuukaku. The doctor doesn't know the difference however, and Gaara takes distinct pleasure in watching him waddle away in terror.

* * *

Two days later, Hyuuga-sama arrives.

She looks different, he notes. Her hair is tied in a high ponytail, and she's dressed in clothes meant for movement, more appropriate for a kunoichi than the medic's jacket. When she walks in, she flashes a smile, performs a jutsu to undo his shackles, and demands he do thirty push-ups.

He was shinobi once, he thinks, thirty is nothing, she's being patronizing too. He glares venomously, and thinks that he's never wanted to wipe a smile off of someone's face quite so much.

Except when he struggles his way to fifteen he realizes how horribly deteriorated his body has become. He gasps and sweats up to twenty, and then falls, crumpled, against the floor.

He's ashamed. He turns his head away when he hears her approach. She drops to her knees, and then he can feel something soft and warm against the back of his neck, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's someone else's skin.

A hand whips around to grab hers, he flips to his back, panting, and then looks down in astonishment at his prize.

She laughs-giggles, he thinks, because it's so light and carefree-, and wiggles her fingers. He watches them- they are pale but rough, and the pressure from his grip is steadily turning them red- and then he releases her and collapses against the ground.

He can count on his hands the number of times he's been touched voluntarily, and most of those were parts of messy assassination attempts. This one was tender, almost friendly. Meant to reassure him, not harm him. He is reminded of the time that Naruto hugged him and declared them brothers, squeezing him so tightly that he'd blushed.

"Your reflexes are still good," she says jokingly.

He snarls again. He sounds like an injured puppy.

"It's only natural that you've weakened, Sabaku-san," she says. Her voice is softer and almost compassionate. "Keeping you cooped up in here for three years— they're more concerned for their own safety than your recovery."

He smirks, but his mouth isn't accustomed to such expressions and it comes out contorted and wild.

"Human nature," he murmurs, because it hurts too much to speak louder right now.

She shakes her head. "True medics always put their patients first."

Gaara lifted a brow. "Do you put me first?"

It's a challenge—any sane person wouldn't pretend to put Sabaku no Gaara's life above hers, especially when he is (or was?) so capable of ending it.

"Of course," she says, without skipping a beat. "Now stand. I'm going to check your pathways again."

He stands. The veins flash around her eyes again, she hums contentedly, and then deactivates her limit.

"Thirty more," she says, pointing to the floor.

He grudgingly obliges. Shuukaku is silent the entire time.

* * *

Hyuuga-sama goes home a few hours later, leaving behind instructions for both him and the medics. His eyes graze over his exhaustive list of daily exercises. He's still damp with sweat from all of the previous routines, and his arms and torso ache from over exertion. She neglected to put his shackles back on, so he maneuvers out of his shirt, tosses it in the corner. He hasn't cared to look at himself in a while, and he knows he probably looks like hell (after all, he doesn't remember the last time he's washed), but he's still surprised when he looks down and sees the outline of his ribs where there once was muscle. His arms are the same-bone strung with veins and not much more. Of course he's emaciated, he hasn't eaten properly in who knows how long and has spent most of his time hanging off of a wall, but this level of depreciation is shocking. How could he not notice what was happening to his own body?

There's a button on the wall that he's supposed to ring for assistance. He's never touched it. Today, he does.

A medic rushes in immediately. He looks flustered, he still has one glove on, and his eyes are wide. It takes Gaara a moment to realize that he's the Suna shinobi who brought him his food.

Gaara looks up at him blankly and asks him.

"Am I dying?"

The man stares back, and then breathes deeply and crosses his arms. He rocks back hesitantly, and Gaara thinks he knows the answer.

But then he speaks. "Hyuuga-sama...is determined to get you back in order."

Gaara doesn't need to be told that. "I know."

The medic scratches the back of his head. "She'll probably do it, too. I won't be surprised if your demon backs down from her sheer cuteness."

Gaara thinks back to the woman's harsh eyes and set mouth and wonders whether 'cute' is the right word to describe her, although she is endearing when she smiles.

"So I wouldn't give up hope." He looks down at him, one eyebrow raised. "You hungry?"

Without his baggy shirt the medic can see the true state of his body, he remembers. It's a wonder he hasn't gotten sick at the sight.

"Very," Gaara admits, closing his eyes. His hair is long now too, though he's always worn it short, and brushes his eyelids.

"Hang on," the man says. He's only gone for a minute, and when he returns he has two prepackaged meals with him, one in each hand. It's only after he sits down cross-legged on the floor does Gaara realize he intends to stay. The man gives him a tentative look, as though half-expecting him to banish him.

He doesn't. Instead, Gaara opens the plastic box and snaps open his chopsticks and proceeds to dig in. It's onigiri—he misses it, is reminded of Temari's sorry attempts to make it, the sour look on her face as Kankuro spat it out on the kitchen countertop and the violent beating that proceeded...

His face darkens. It's been three years since he's seen them, too. He knows he isn't to see visitors and that's why they haven't bothered to come, but it's hard not to think that they haven't tried. Not one scroll has arrived for him.

The medic is eating too; he eats like a gentleman even in this environment, back straight, tray held up at his chest with one hand, small, slow bites. His eyes alternate between resting solely on Gaara and roving everywhere but. He waits for Gaara to finish one rice ball before clearing his throat, putting his food down, and stretching out his hand.

"My name is Korunma Takashi," he says. Gaara looks down at the hand and, after a moment, takes it, marveling at how fleshy and full it is compared to his own. The moment he lets go, Gaara turns back to his food and shovels it down even faster.

"Hyuuga-sama was right about the shackles," Korunma says, shaking his head. "They were useless. You're doing just fine without them."

Shuukaku is sleeping right now, that's why you're still alive, Gaara wants to say, but instead he stuffs a fat piece of omelette in his mouth as far as it will go.

"I mean, it must be frustrating for you. You came here voluntarily, right? You asked to be healed." He looks up at him, and Gaara thinks he sees respect behind the sympathy. "So you must be wondering why nothing has changed until now."

"You are a medic," Gaara says lowly. Kuronma knows what he means, hears the accusation in it. 'You were here too. Didn't you do anything? Or are you suddenly seeing me as human because Hyuuga-sama does?'

"Not until a few months ago, really," Kuronma amends, looking a little nervous despite the ease of his voice. "I just finished my apprentice. This is the first month I'm actually getting access to patient records."

Gaara looks at him disbelievingly and attacks his second rice ball ravenously.

"I-I mean, I have heard rumors."

At this, he pauses, letting his chopsticks settle for the first time since he started eating in his tray.

"They were never very pleasant," Kuronma admits, looking a little sheepish. "And I've had to, erm, clean up a few of It's messes before. Not fun. Though I'm sure it's much worse for you."

Gaara nearly cracks a smile. This guy is amusing for some odd reason. He's been alone for so long, and being able to sit down and eat and talk, albeit about such heavy subjects, is nice.

"Understatement," he mumbles through his full mouth. Kuronma laughs, and then unclips a flask from his waist and offers it to him. Gaara looks down at it suspiciously- people have tried to poison him far too many times- and Kuronma withdraws, eyes alight with understanding. He unscrews the cap, and chugs back a heavy gulp.

"It's safe," he says, wiping his mouth. "As a medic, I should be against the whole sharing cups thing, but, what the hell."

Tentatively, Gaara lifts the flask to his lips and drinks. It's sweet, tangy, and a little warm. Some kind of juice, he thinks vaguely. He tilts it up and lets it flow down his throat greedily. Some dribbles down his chin, his tongue laps it up and relishes the taste.

It isn't until he's almost done that he notices Kuronma looks uneasy, his thick eyebrows drawn together, mouth tight. He holds the flask a few inches below his lips for easy access and latches his gaze onto Kuronma warily.

"I…", the young man stammers, and then turns a bit red, "I put some painkillers in that. I, erm, I hope you don't mind."

But of course he minds. His eyes darken, he flings the flask away. It clangs noisily against the wall and then spins on the ground. A river of burgundy liquid trails after it. Kuronma flinches, but doesn't respond, as though he were expecting this.

"I trusted you," Gaara growls.

Kuronma puts his food aside and sighs. "Look, it's good for you."

"Get out," Gaara hisses. They always insist it's good for him. It never is.

"I just thought you-!"

"Get. Out."

Kuronma bites his lip and stands. He sweeps his empty tray into his hands, and then picks up his flask. Without another word, he ducks under the door and is gone.

Gaara looks down his list. Hyuuga-sama has prescribed thirty minutes of meditation and fifteen more push-ups. He drops onto his stomach, braces himself against the concrete floor, and forces himself up. One.

* * *

**A/N: **The second installment of "Bound." I've just finished typing the story itself, so how often I update depends on you. :D Review, please?

Also, Hinata really isn't all that different. Don't worry.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N : **Sorry for the long absence, guys.:D Warning, this is mostly unedited. :P

**Disclaimer: **Do not own Naruto.

**Chapter Three**

When Hyuuga-sama arrives, he is asleep, half on his bedroll and half off. She must have lingered awhile, because when he wakes it is to her face hovering over his and a cool towel on his forehead. Her hair drifts lazily above his nose- he wants to touch it.

"Maybe we're taking this too quickly," she says, frowning, mostly to herself. "Sabaku-san, how are you feeling?"

He's about to say he feels fine, but that he's tired and she needs to leave now because he's got almost eighteen years of sleep to catch up on, but the moment he sits up his mind goes blank.

It feels as though he'd being engulfed in fire. Everything is hot, too hot, and he cries out and collapses backwards onto the bedroll. The moment he makes contact with the sheets he rolls away, the concrete is cooler, but it isn't enough. His eyes are swimming; he can't even hear himself screaming now, just wants it to stop stop stop...

His eyes catch hers. She looks concerned, but not surprised. She stands, looking helpless, and watches, not turning away. His back arches off of the concrete.

"What is this?" he manages to rasp through grit teeth. He's handled pain before, he handles pain on a daily basis, but this isn't pain, it's hellfire.

"I'm going to put you to sleep, Sabaku-san," she says, brows furrowed.

"Please," he manages, and then howls as the fire invades his eyes.

Her hands come down on him in an instant, nearly blurred as she finds pressure points he didn't even know existed- the fire flares, and then ebbs, and he's out like a light.

He wakes with a start and a horrible headache. He grits his teeth against it, but it's bearable, so much better than the horror from before. He lifts a hand to brush back his hair; it's dark with sweat and sticks relentlessly to his forehead. Then he sees them.

He'd call them shackles, but he isn't chained, and they feel surprisingly light. The coloring is odd, pastel lilac and blue, and there's a tiny light that flickers on and off like a heartbeat. He traces the grooves absentmindedly.

It takes Hyuuga-sama less than a minute to arrive- either she's finely-tuned to his state or has hidden a monitor in the room. She's made an effort to wash her face, but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes a bit red. She takes a deep shuddering breath, and Gaara gulps down too, because he's always hated watching people cry and especially hates watching her. It seems unnatural that the same woman who can order a Head medic around like her servant can shed tears so openly.

"S-sorry," she stammers, and then bows deeply. "I'm so, so sorry!"

He stares down at her and wonders bitterly how she has betrayed him.

"I-I thought...by replenishing your chakra, you'd be able to overcome Shuukaku-I-I didn't think it through. It isn't just another human inside you- it's a demon, and I...I miscalculated. I forgot that Shuukaku would fight, and now you had to feel the consequences of my mistake!"

Gaara blinks. This isn't what he expected, and his eyes drift lazily to his wrists. He doesn't respond, and his silence must be nerve-wracking for the Hyuuga, because she shudders and continues.

"Those- you'll have to wear those for a few months." she exhales shakily. "I found a way to access Shuukaku's chakra, but it will take some of yours too. You'll feel lethargic, so you don't have to do any of the routines for a week or so."

He nods. He wants to know the real bad news, the part where she tells him it's best to give up, that she can't do much more for him.

Instead, she asks, "Also, w-what about a seal? I-I've been thinking about making a seal- with it, Shuukaku can be caged- he won't be able to hurt you again."

For the first time in days, Shuukaku speaks again, and it's to claim that no seal can keep him out and declare that this woman is meddlesome but rather delicious looking, so why doesn't he have a taste? Gaara furrows his brow, forcing it back down. Shuukaku falls silent, but he's lingering, Gaara can feel him swimming in the recesses of his mind.

Hyuuga tenses too- she takes his silence for aversion. "I-I thought-this seal would keep Shuukaku well-behaved. I'm still working on it, but if it's successful, it would make it so that Shuukaku couldn't kill you without killing itself."

There is silence, inside Gaara's mind and out. Shuukaku is in shock, mostly because such a seal would make him strictly mortal- his cycle of emerging and reemerging would end forever. It's nearly pathetic, a creature who's lived for thousands of years shouldn't be scared of death, but Shuukaku's fear is nearly tangible. Gaara chuckles aloud. He's felt the monster's bloodlust, hatred, elation, but never fear. "Shuukaku doesn't like that much."

It's the first time he's spoken to anyone about Shuukaku like it's a person, not referencing the pain and acknowledging that yes, sometimes he talks to him. He watches Hyuuga-sama's eyes widen, as she catches her breath.

"He...talks?"

Gaara's expression turns amused. She doesn't seem perturbed much by this, in fact, by the way her mouth is forming an 'o', she looks almost pleased.

"He can hear me, then?"

Gaara nods. Hyuuga smiles, and then playfully points a warning finger at his stomach. "Listen, you. We're going to seal you in and lock you up and if you dare hurt Sabaku-san again we'll make sure to suck you dry, understand?"

Shuukaku growls in reply through Gaara's mouth, flashing human teeth in a grimace. Gaara shows no surprise, he's used to being manhandled, and just sits still and unaffected as his jaw contorts to the monster's will.

The Hyuuga woman laughs brazenly, and he's unsure of whether to be amused or offended (it's no laughing matter, of course, he's being used like a puppet). He choses the former, and laughs along with her. It's pleasant, even before he turned himself in he didn't do it often, but there's something a bit relaxing about it. He laughs a little louder, and it's when he catches the Hyuuga's wide, wet smile that he realizes she has stopped.

"I hope you feel better soon, Sabaku-san," she says, and the lilt in her voice and her pink face and shining eyes make him think that maybe Korunma is right, maybe Hyuuga-sama is a little cute.

***

He's back in his room a few hours later, which is all well and good except that he's feeling restless. It's inexplicable, he's never felt such an overwhelming need to move. He goes through Hyuuga-sama's list and surprises himself when he gets up to twenty push-ups with relative ease. When he's done with those, he begins pacing, walking from one end of the room to the other, back and forth until he thinks his feet have dug a path in the concrete.

He isn't entirely surprised when his door slides open and Kuronma steps in, mouth set in determination. He's holding two trays again, and a pair of clear bottles of water. Gaara glances up at him fleetingly and continues pacing.

"I'm eating with you today," Kuronma finally says, as though daring him to stop him.

"Do what you want," he says.

The medic narrows his eyes, because that isn't the answer he wants to hear. He wants to be kicked out or welcomed in, not met with any of this indifference. Nevertheless, he sits, legs crossed, on the floor and opens up his lunch.

"Why are you here?" Gaara says, finally stopping in his tracks.

"I like talking to you," is the candid answer. He places the second tray gently on the floor, and a water bottle after it. "I didn't put anything in them this time. You know, since, erm, you don't like that."

Gaara looks down at him disbelievingly, but then again he's so hungry and what does he have to lose? Kuronma's packaged lunches are so much better than the soupy crap they usually serve to the patients anyway. So he sits, opens up his lunch, and eats.

Kuronma watches every bite gravely before warily opening his as well and bringing a bite to his mouth. "Sorry," he says.

Gaara grunts in response. He doesn't sense fear from this guy, nor any ill-intentions. Kuronma is being sincere, and Gaara isn't sure how to react around sincerity. He glares up at him and takes a monstrous bite of his onigiri.

Kuronma makes an odd, queasy face, and then slaps a hand over his mouth and lowers his head. At first Gaara thinks he's getting sick, but then the medic glances up and he can see the mirth in his eyes. He's laughing.

"I don't understand why you are so amused," Gaara says lowly. Kuronma raises a hand to excuse himself, chuckles some more, knocks back some water, and then nearly spouts it all out again.

"Y-Your..." he says, pointing and holding his stomach, "Face!"

Gaara starts, once again not sure whether or not to be offended. His hands jerk up reflexively to touch his cheek. "My...face?"

Kuronma waves him off good-naturedly. "You have some rice right...," he points to his own chin, "...here. Your mouth was full like a gerbil's," he blows his cheeks up, "and I think you just tried to glare despite this. You are, really, much less intimidating than they say."

Gaara grins grimly. "Yes, without my sand, I can imagine I would be."

Kuronma finally stops laughing, giving him a warm smile. "You're alright, Sabaku."

"So are you."

They eat the rest of their meal in silence, and Gaara rediscovers what it means to have a friend.

***

"I hear Takashi has been eating with you," Hyuuga says one day, after she's finished examining him.

Gaara looks up at her. The longer he is around her, the more he realizes how wildly inaccurate his initial impression of her was. He'd seen her as a master, a merciless, no-nonsense, terrifying kunoichi. But now, so much is different. She twiddles her thumbs when she's nervous, and she's nervous often, so her hands are constantly busy. She's intelligent but humble, but also has a ridiculously strong sense of judgment. He suspects that she found something in the Head Medic to be corrupt, because otherwise she could never have procured the cold professionalism she demonstrated that first day.

Hyuuga-sama...mothers him. These days she comes into his room with inexplicably gentle smiles, sometimes bearing gifts that have nothing to do with healing him. In the corner of his room, he has several new shirts, all darkly colored and a few sizes too big because she's so determined to put "some meat" back on his bones, a set of pillows, and a blanket, fleece and burgundy. The last gift he likes the most, because it is thick and soft and smells like outside, like sun and earth.

"He has," Gaara acknowledges. "Why does it matter?"

He's always been brash and blatant, not because he likes to hurt others but because he finds pretentions abhorrible. He thinks she understands, because she doesn't wince, just smiles.

"I..." here comes the stammer, he thinks, "I was talking to Takashi the other day. He...told me you liked onigiri." She looks down and shuffles her feet, a sure sign that she's brought something...again. "He said he was bringing you pre-packaged lunches... And I thought it's probably been a while since you've had anything homemade, and, so, well. I brought some."

"It's lunch already?" It can be so hard to keep track of time in this place. He barely knows morning from night- just that the medics turn out the lights at nine. It could be nine in the morning or night, as far as he could say.

She isn't answering, just fumbling again. It's hard to believe that she turns into such a martinet during her examinations and his routines yet can behave like this the moment she's finished. He isn't sure whether to be irritated or amused or both.

"What time is it?"

She takes a cursory glance at her watch. "A little after noon."

"...Then it's lunch, Hyuuga-sama."

There is silence, and not the comfortable kind he usually shares with Hyuuga-sama. Her face is flushed pink, she is looking determinedly at her feet, but he hasn't said anything to embarrass her, has he?

"I-It's Hinata," she finally murmurs.

"Excuse me?" She's speaking into the neck of her jacket; her voice is muffled.

"It's Hinata!" she half-shouts. Briefly, her eyes flash with an emotion he can't quite define, and then she rushes out of the room mumbling something or another about fetching Takashi and bringing in the bento.

A few minutes later, he hears voices, it's Hyuuga-sama and Kuronma, and they are laughing racuously. They open the door and Hinata is positively beaming, he's never seen her smile quite like that before, and Kuronma is handling two of the bento carefully and simultaneosly cradling Hyuuga-sama's elbow. She's all red.

"Our Hyuuga-sama is such a clutz," Kuronma announces jovially. "I hope she hasn't burned our food."

Hinata gives him a sour look, and then smiles again, but this one is the bridled one they are all accostumed to. "Suna's medics seem to believe it's perfectly fine to leave their gloves on the floor," she mutters, then looks up. Gaara is lookng at her gravely, head tilted ever-so-slightly to one side. She unstacks the bento and places it delicately in front of him, and hands him his chopsticks. He reaches in and pulls out a riceball, examining it.

"It's warm," he observes aloud, and then takes a bite. The flavor is different, richer, than Kuronma's boxed meals. He chews slowly and swallows. "Hyuuga-sama, it's good."

She stiffens oddly at first, and nods, fixing her eyes on her lap.

Kuronma is shoveling food into his mouth with abandon and grinning like an idiot, pausing only to swallow and exclaim things like "So good!" and "I haven't tasted something like this since I left home!" Hinata accepts his compliments with grace. She barely touches her own food and seems perfectly content to watch them. When both men clear their plates and begin to eye her half-full one, she pushes it forward, murmurs about having already eaten, and waits patiently until they have finished that as well.

"Takashi-kun, Sabaku-san," she says.

Gaara's eyes narrow slightly. He notices the stark contrast between the way she addresses them-Kuronma like he's a dear friend, Gaara like he's a complete stranger. You've been tending to me for months now, he thinks, and are always so kind. Why so distant?

Kuronma notices too, because he jostles her shoulder playfully. "Oy, Hyuuga-sama," he emphasizes the honorific, and she darts to look at him with alarm, "You talk so formally. Can't you ease up?"

She pinches her lips, suddenly realizing what they are referring to. "You guys...are such hypocrites!" Gaara watches, agahst, as she restacks the bento furiously, wrapping them individually in cloth napkins so quickly that her hands seem blurred. "You-!" she turns to Kuronma first, eyes blazing, "You- I've been calling you Takashi for the past four months, and you still insist on calling me 'Hyuuga-sama' left and right!" While Kuronma simpers and realizes she's right, she rounds on Gaara, who looks somehow vulnerable with his eyes wide and back straight. "And you! I told you, specifically, to just call me Hinata, but you just..."

"Hinata-chan," Gaara says. He says it slowly, experimentally, he's only ever called Naruto and his siblings by their first names-such gestures intimate so much closeness, closeness he isn't sure he can attain. He says it again, and she freezes. Her eyes are like pearls, he notes, round, color shifting between white and silver with lilac tints, and her mouth forms a silent 'o'. Kuronma is right. She is cute.

"That's..." she says shakily. "That's much better... Gaara-kun."

They smile and blush bashfully and nobody remembers that Hinata never finished her sentence.

**A/N: **I'm such a sucker for friendship-scenes. I almost like them better than romance. Hope you liked, and hope you'll tell me just how much. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. If I did…the most interesting characters would get more screentime than the rather 2D, predictable ones (though I love those too) *coff naruto coff*

**A/N: **What? An update already? Well, since I was so bad for two months, I figured I'd treat you guys. Thanks so much for the comments. I hope you continue to love this as much as you do now. :}

**Chapter Four**

Shuukaku sends a jolt of pain to his side, clamping down tightly on muscle. Good morning, it says. Sleep well?

Gaara ignores it. The less he acknowledges Shuukaku, the quieter it becomes, much like a stubborn child. Eventually, the monster shuts its mouth completely, and Gaara gets a well-deserved reprieve for a few days, once even a week. His old medic has left their branch- Kuronma, grinning like a man with a deadly secret, informs him that the man had been overcharging the richer patients and stealing the difference for himself. He is not surprised. The old man had left him to rot in a ten by ten room, had watched as he starved and suffered and probably was waiting for him to die.

He's been doing much better lately. When Shuukaku gets too riled up, his wristbands activate and drain them both, and he sleeps for a few hours while his body recovers. He's had Hinata and Kuronma for six months now, and they make living bearable. He softens around them, thinks very human thoughts, laughs occasionally, and is content. They are professionals outside of visiting hours-he'll never quite get used to Hinata's three-second transformations, though Kuronma keeps saying that it's the result of a certain 'Tsunade-sama's' training. But come lunch, they always arrive at his cell, faithfully bringing with them three lunches.

His body has improved drastically. In the fourth month, Hinata dragged him from his room. It had been the first time he'd consciously left it, and he'd looked at the tile under his feet, the beige walls. They'd passed a window, and, not thinking, he'd stopped, reached out, touched it. The glass was cool under his fingertips. He'd seen blue sky and a powerful sun, hardy plants, and, in the distance, other buildings, all intoned in golds and browns and ochre. A hand had grasped his shoulder.

"In time," Hinata had said, and then led him to the facility's small indoor gym and forced him onto a treadmill.

He makes this trip at least twice a week now, always under supervision. After a routine, Hinata always forces him to down a thick, bitter drink, and then sends him back to his room to rest. He feels almost like a shinobi again, training relentlessly and daily, though back then he'd ridden mostly on his talent and not physical strength. In six months, he's managed to put on nearly thirty pounds in lean muscle, and lately is looking more and more like a strong eighteen year old man than an emaciated torture victim. The revelation gives him a strange pleasure- he's never been much concerned with his appearance- but these days, he notices the way Hinata's eyes sometimes linger when she looks at him, and realizes that he likes it.

"You can probably fit into these now," she says, tossing one of his shirts to him. It's made of a familiar silk-like material, designed to breathe in Suna's summer heat. The neck is high but the arms are left bare. He yanks the cotton, hospital-provided travesty off (Hinata turns away. She never did that before) and slips this one on. It's still a bit loose, but he fills it much better than he would have a few months ago.

"Thank you," he says. He means it. There's more that he wants to say, but he doesn't know how to exactly, because how can you thank someone for saving your life? He owes her so much.

She turns, catches his expression, and sighs. "You're my beloved patient, Gaara-kun."

He'd only understand why his heart sank so completely at those words weeks later.

* * *

"Gaara," Kuronma says, as he walks casually into his room. He looks tense, which is odd for the normally upbeat medic, and Gaara looks up. "Listen. I need your help."

"There isn't much that I can do for you in here," he says, tracing a pattern in the concrete.

"In this case," Kuronma said, eyes darkening, "There is."

He sits, folds his legs, covers his face with his hands, and draws in a slow, calming breath. Gaara watches him settle himself for a moment.

"What is it?" he asks, impatient. Kuronma lifts his head. His hair grows quickly- it brushes past his shoulders now.

"I like Hinata-chan," he finally blurts out, folding his fists determinedly.

Gaara feels his system shut down. Shuukaku, who has behaved very well for the past few days, chuckles. The sound resounds, echoing in his brain. Kuronma-san likes...he likes...

"I knew you'd be shocked," Kuronma admits sheepishly. "And you're probably a bit angry, since, you know, we're all three friends. But..." he sifts his hair through his hands. His cheeks are flushed. "I can't help it. I'm sure you've noticed, too. Hinata-chan is...Hinata-chan is..."

"Why are you telling me this?" His tone is flat. He knows what Kuronma wants to say. She's caring, she's pretty, she's too kind for her own good. That's what he sees, and he equates them into her being a suitable, wonderful wife. It isn't love, it's a fairy tale, and his imagination is definitely not a good enough reason to pursue her.

"You know her better than I do," Kuronma admits sheepishly. "When we talk, she only wants to talk about you. She calls you her beloved patient. You're precious to her."

If you can see all this, Gaara thinks, why are you here? It isn't envy he feels constricting in his chest, it's annoyance at the fact that Kuronma is complicating things. He's heard about such feelings, and they seem superfluous and unnecessary.

He tells him so. Kuronma's face drops visibly.

"All I need to know is whether she feels the same way."

She doesn't, though, so why ask? Gaara wants to ask, just to see Kuronma fumble over the answer. She sees Kuronma as fun company, but nothing more. Her eyes never linger on him, she gives him the standard smiles, the standard laughs. She's never really talked to him. He doesn't know her.

Gaara does, or at least he believes he does. She has told him much about Naruto (he's doing well, yes, orange is still his favorite color, the pink-haired girl? Oh, Sakura. They're engaged now), about Konoha (it rains there), about her best friends Kiba and Shino and her over-protective nii-san who is constantly trying to follow her to Suna. Once, on a particularly stormy night when she decided to take a night shift at the hospital, she snuck into his room and told him about her clan, about the straight-backed, regal Hyuuga, with their white eyes and many secrets. Smiling sadly, she'd told him how she was such a weak representative for her powerful people, and that she wasn't impressive at all, and only if he could see her father could he understand what the name 'Hyuuga' inferred. She told him how she'd studied the Jinchuukuri seals to help Naruto, how she was so happy that her work had led her here and to him.

"You're my dearest friend here in Suna," she'd said, while he watched her silently.

"If you could just put in a good word for me, I'd..."

Gaara interrupts. "What do you know about Hinata-sama, Kuronma?"

Kuronma furrows his brow in concentration. "She's from the Hyuuga in Konoha, she likes flowers...she's sweet, she's very intelligent, she's..."

It isn't enough. "Just find out yourself," Gaara sighs. Kuronma opens his mouth to object, but Gaara obstinately folds his arms and slams down on the conversation. Looking nonplussed, Kuronma slinks out of the room.

* * *

It takes barely two hours for Hinata to return, and Gaara is still running through Kuronma's words, mouth set angrily. Flowers? Hinata doesn't like flowers. She'd said once how sad it was to watch them wither and die in days, regardless of how carefully she cared for them. As though the love from the person who provided them would do the same. Sweet? Sometimes. Usually. But then again, this is the same woman who periodically takes out his limbs as punishment when he doesn't obey all of her instructions. Kuronma knows nothing. Nothing.

She sneaks in silently, and he only looks up now because he's so finely tuned to her chakra.

"Gaara-kun," she said, looking down at him sternly, "You didn't tell me your birthday was last month."

"I didn't know," Gaara says truthfully. He's known he is eighteen now for a while, just not how far into eighteen he is.

"But I gave you a calendar!" She says indignantly, pointing to the wall. It hasn't been turned in months. The snow covered slopes of Konoha's mountains, emblazoned with an icy "January," stare back at her. It's June.

He shrugs. "Its hard to tell sometimes. You know, night from day."

She sets her mouth furiously and wheels out. The door slams so hard that he can see the chakra spark around it.

The next morning, she marches in again. Behind her is a crew of nameless lifters. They walk past him and hoist up his bedroll, throw his bathroom amenities into a box, gather his pillows and blanket. He doesn't own much; six men is far too many, but by the way Hinata is standing, back leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and...pouting? Gaara thinks she's done it on purpose. She wants to make a point, show him how serious she is, but doesn't realize that it's completely unnecessary- he knows she isn't joking.

"You're moving," she announces, then whips around again, her signal for him to follow. He lumbers to his feet and walks behind her.

Soon they've stopped, and Hinata opens a door- a regular door, not altered or impenetrable or chakra-infused, just wood, a doorknob, blue paint. He steps in.

The room is probably the same size as his old one. But the walls here are neutral grey instead of stark white, and the floors are carpeted, albeit cheaply. The bathroom is actually in a separate room, not fixed into the main one like in a prison cell. The bed consists of a mattress and a frame- they've probably tossed his bedroll. But he isn't looking at any of these. He's staring through the giant window, watching the clouds drift lazily past him. It's so large that Gaara can almost pretend he's outside, and the sunshine that he can feel warm against his shoulder is unfiltered, unadulterated.

He's always been a man of few words, but this is the first time he's ever been completely speechless. Hinata is sending the crew away, and it's only now that he sees their faces, smooth, young, and strong, and part of him wonders whether they are Genin sent on a degrading D-rank.

And then she's at his side again, hand resting gently between his shoulder blades. She traces slowly, and he shudders.

"Is this better?" she says. "They still won't let you outside yet, but this way you'll be able to see the sunrise."

She's fought, he can tell by the triumphant set of her jaw that she's fought, thrown tantrums and made all kinds of noise to get him this room. A room he can go in and out of freely, a room where he doesn't feel stifled and dead.

He nods in response and watches the sun peek through the clouds and wonders why he has a sudden urge to grab his medic and hold her tight.

**A/N: **If it wasn't too clear from this, Hinata and Kuronma have been taking care of Gaara for about six months now. :P Review, plois!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Naruto. It'd be over by now if I did.

**A/N: **No more spoiling you guys with instant updates. I'm a review whore, remember? I don't deliver until I'm sat-is-fied. :D (And here I am delivering, regardless. Wow, I'm cheap.)

**Chapter Five  
**  
Gaara's hungry, it's past lunchtime, and neither Kuronma nor Hinata have arrived. He's getting impatient; he doesn't want to have to consume the slop the nurses are likely to bring him soon, so he swings his legs over the side of the bed, stands, and walks out of his door.

Half of him thought that his first unsupervised trip out of his room would feel like release. Instead, it feels like nothing. He pads slowly past medics, some who glance up in mortification as he passes, some in amusement, most don't look at all. There are nurses, a unique mixture of kunoichi and civilians. It's surprisingly easy to tell them apart- the civilians are older, fatter, and look at him with awe; they look at him and see the Kazekage's son. The shinobi are much younger, slight, shadowy figures with their headbands wound around foreheads or necks or waists. Their eyes flicker up quickly, but his old reflexes catch them. Their reactions are far more varied. There's curiosity, respect, even, but there's also disgust and horror. After living their entire lives constantly on the precipice between life and death, it's only natural that they're paranoid, but Gaara wants to toss his arms wide and show them how vulnerable he is. No sand, he wants to tell them, and I haven't performed ninjutsu in four years. I'm not a threat to you.

Somehow, he finds his way to the mess hall. The door says 'Medics Only,' but he pushes it open and walks inside anyway. There are two people there; he's never seen them before, but they seem to recognize him. The woman is definitely shinobi, with narrow hips and a wide, red mouth; the man, stern-eyed, handsome, and tight-lipped, he can't be sure.

"Woah," the woman says, giving him a hungry once-over, "Hinata-chan has worked wonders on you. Wonder whether I should bring my husband to her."

Gaara blinks back owlishly. "I'm...I was hungry," he explains dumbly. It's been awhile since he's spoken to anyone other than Hinata and Kuronma, and he's tongue-tied and, well, nervous.

"You never used to be," the woman says matter-of-factly, "But I suppose to maintain that shape-"

"Kisa," the man says warningly, "That's enough."

"I was just kidding around. Kid looks like he needs a laugh."

"I laugh," Gaara retorts weakly, scowling. The man and woman look at him in wonder, and then wag their heads.

"What do you want to eat?" the man says. His smile is kind. It reminds him of Yashamaru's. Gaara turns away.

"Onigiri," he mutters.

"What kind?"

He doesn't know the answer to this question, so he shrugs. The medic picks a tray from several dozen arranged on a heated pad, and hands it to Gaara. He takes it, looks down, and turns awkwardly toward the door. He's halfway out when he remembers, and then wheels around, bows his head, and murmurs a quick 'thank you,' before scurrying away.

"Cute kid," he hears the woman named Kisa say, "Doesn't seem anymore psychotic than the next guy, anyhow."

Gaara smiles, and makes the trek back to his room feeling accomplished.

When he returns, he finds the door half open and Hinata's chakra pulsing furiously. He steps inside, and she looks up from her seat on the floor. Her Byakugan is activated and her jaw is set.

"Sit," she says. He obeys wordlessly, crumpling down to his knees on the carpet in front of her. His food, forgotten, lies unopened next to him.

She stands, locks the door, and then promptly breaks. The Byakugan fades, her mouth loosens, her eyes water, and then she's next to him, so close, her head against his chest, one hand curled into a fist, pounding against his chest weakly as though she's trying to knock on his heart.

"K-Kuronma..." she murmurs.

The top of her head brushes his chin. Her hair is soft. His arms hang back, useless, but his hands are fists, and his chest is tightening and the shackles are beginning to blink rapidly as his chakra opens up and pours out. It's like electricity in the air, growing stronger with every second of her silence.

Gaara tenses. "What did he do?"

"He confessed to me," she says shakily. "And...and I turned him down."

For some reason, he feels lighter after hearing this.

"We said some horrible things to each other," she adds, and he thinks that perhaps, for a shinobi, she hates conflict a bit too much. "And...he said..." she suddenly freezes, pulling away as though just realizing where she is.

"I'm sorry," she says clearly. "That was very unprofessional. Just as he said. I'm being unprofessional. Sensei would be disappointed."

His heart stammers.

"We're friends," Gaara hears himself saying, "You are...suppposed to be unprofessional."

Her eyes sharpen and she takes another step back. "You are my patient, Gaara-kun. I should stop all of this. I'll ruin things again if I keep this up. You're doing well now, I need to go back, b-back to Konoha, I need to…" Her voice wavers and she drops her face into her hands.

He shakes his head. She's upset. Kuronma's probably said something questioning the nature of their relationship, and now she's doubting herself. The light feeling disappears, and now he feels like he's sinking, down, down, into something dark and inescapable, because Hinata is actually contemplating leaving him.

"Don't," he croaks. He wants to reach out to her as she did to him, but his body rebels. "You have to stay here. N-no one else here can save me."

It's the first time he's said it aloud. He looks her square in the eye, pleading. She shudders.

"Gaara-kun," she whispers, "I've been horrible and partial. I'm trained as a medic-I should behave like one. You should know this. You should be appalled by my behavior and _want_ me to leave."

Nothing she does or says or feels will make him want her to leave, he thinks.

"Hinata," he says now, "If you stop seeing me, I'll give up. I've fought for four years. I'm tired." He is. Shuukaku is mostly silent these days, but that can change. All he has to do is stop eating, stop sleeping, become weak again. It'd be so easy.

She steps back alarmed, and drops her face into her hands. "Don't say that. I'll stay. I just-"

"Stop." It's the first time he's ever ordered her to do anything, and he's a little startled when she clamps her mouth shut and stares down at her hands.

"Hinata," he closes his eyes. His bruised eyelids make the whole top half of his face seem to be cast in shadow. He reaches an arm out to her, and she looks at it questioningly. And then she looks up, sees his face. He's incredibly pale, almost iridescent, but he's blushing slightly and it brings uncharacteristic color to his face. He glances up to her pained smile, and then she ducks under the arm and nestles close to his side. She's warm and unafraid. It feels nice.

They sit there in silence for what feels like hours. He can feel her body rise and fall as she breathes, can hear the occasional hitches in her breath as she shakes off the last of her tremors. He's never held anyone like this before, he realizes—and it feels so nice, so natural.

"Do you know," she suddenly murmurs, "That we've actually met before?"

He doesn't remember.

"Chuunin exams in Konoha. You were with your siblings."

He nods. Those were his darkest days, when Shuukaku and he were so intertwined that he couldn't discern between his own will and the monster's.

"I...went against Nii-san. He's always been much stronger than me, and he was angry with my family, and when we fought, I lost badly. They took me to the hospital.

"You had transformed. I remember how Naruto and Sasuke went after you, and a few hours later you were in the hospital too. You were asleep most of the time, I think. But we spoke once."

Gaara looks down at her, trying to remember back over five years before. He can almost replay his battle with Naruto and the Uchiha move by move, recalls almost every word the fellow Jinchuuruki had yelled as they grappled. But the hospital is a blur. He can remember smells, sounds, and feeling physical pain for the first time, but not much else.

"What did you say?"

She grinned. "I-I said 'Hello.' You looked at me and rolled over."

They laugh. He's glad they're like this again. He still feels slightly sick from the prospect of actually losing her, but it's abating quickly.

"I used to love Naruto-kun for that, you know?"

Gaara grunts. She giggles again; the sound is choked.

"I did. He was always helping others. I-I'm not very good as a field shinobi- I usually am just good for tracking- so I decided to study the chakra systems of Jinchuuruki for him." She sighs. "He was the one who told me to come here. H-He badgered Tsunade-sama until she told him where you were. Then, when he found out, he came to me and begged. I only came...because I thought that he might acknowledge me then."

Gaara is silent, eyes shut again as he absorbs her words. It seems as though he will always be indebted to Naruto-kun, though the man has done so much for him already.

"Are you jealous?" Hinata is saying now, sounding strangely hopeful.

"Do you still feel that way for him?"

Resolved, she shakes her head. "He has Sakura-chan. And...I-I have you."

It's at that moment that he feels a jolt travel up his spine. He whips around to face her, and her eyes are wide and childlike, she's biting her lip guiltily, and he wonders whether she's just confessed or is speaking platonically.

Of course, when she pushes his hair back from his forehead and lifts her lips to gently brush against his tattoo, he thinks he knows the answer. Suddenly his whole body is charged, and he's grabbing her upper arms tightly and pulling her to him. Her cheeks are flushed.

He isn't sure who moves first, just that somehow their lips have found each other and are brushing slowly, back and forth, gently, and he's so damn happy that he could die right then and still feel fulfilled. So this is it, he thinks, this is love, and he decides that he was wrong, that it is most definitely not superfluous and unnecessary, it's wonderful, it's nearly incapacitating, and he wants to swim in it forever.

She gasps. His hands trail to the small of her back, and she's flush against him now. He can feel every curve, and the drastic difference in their bodies is astounding and exciting. He hardens the kiss, growls when he feels her hands entangle in his hair. This is good. Too good. He's so warm. Everything tingles. He thinks he's going to...

Hinata makes a muffled sound of alarm in his mouth. He releases her reluctantly, eyes half-lidded, only slightly annoyed by the interruption.

"I-I have to go!" She stammers, red as a beet, and before he can protest, she's unlocked the door and is running through it.

It's only when he looks down at his lap and realizes that a rather dormant part of him has been awakened does he piece two and two together.

Shuukaku laughs so hard inside him that Gaara feels like his sides are splitting.

* * *

The next day, a male medic comes to the room and gives Gaara a very thorough Sex Ed course, after which, of course, he is wholly mortified. No one, not even his sister, ever had the gall to give him details about the birds and the bees, and soon the whole hospital knows about the poor, innocent son of the Kage who, at eighteen, still doesn't even know how to become a man.

* * *

**A/N: **My College Quirks silliness is seeping into this fic, it seems. _ I was going to delete the last paragraph, because it seems so out of place in a rather serious fic like this one, but, heh, I couldn't help it. Hope you like- this chap is slightly shorter than the others. :D


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Is the Naruto fandom losing steam or something? All of the (good) stories are updating much more slowly than usual, and it's making me sad. I need mah fix.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto. Although, I'm sure the forehead-tattoo idea can't be copyrighted, can it?

**Chapter Six**

Kuronma doesn't visit anymore. Gaara doesn't feel the loss. It's cruel, the man was his first friend in this place, but he's never learned to forgive and Kuronma hasn't asked for his mercy.

However, many new faces have emerged. The nurses come in droves, fueled by endless curiosity and Kisa-sama's gossip. Usually, they come equipped with excuses, taking his temperature when he's clearly not sick, drawing his blood, weighing him. Sometimes, they come for no reason at all and stop by just to make inane conversation. One day, one of the silent kunoichi-apprentices takes him by the hand and leads him to the Mess Hall, and he eats with them at a round table, quiet but observant. They are strangely natural around him, and he realizes it's because they aren't afraid of him anymore. It's nice. Kisa-sama throws him furtive grins and tries to fluster him with provocative jokes, and Utakata, the stern man who accompanies her, always chastises her soundly and apologizes to him. Some of the others still can't look directly at him, but Hinata claims that it's normal, he's simply the new kid, and they aren't sure how to handle him. ("Plus," she adds, poking him firmly at a pressure point in his chest, "You're still a patient. Don't expect all of the staff to try to be best buddies with you.")

He can't gauge Hinata's reaction to his sudden popularity- part of him wants her to be jealous, but she's far too tolerant for that- her face is masked in smiles. It's frustrating. They haven't kissed again, really, she isn't acting differently at all, and it's been two weeks. He's burning for it- he wants her to come to him again because he's unsure of how to reach out to her. Was the first time too embarrassing? Did she not like it? Perhaps he actually had misinterpreted her reaction, she'd been trying to assert them as good friends, and he'd let his own hopes take over? The questions are lingering and annoying- he doesn't remember thinking so hard about anything other than Shuukaku, especially something so ridiculous.

One day, when the Mess Hall is occupied only by Kisa-sama, Utakata-sama, and the stoic kunoichi-apprentice who Gaara now knows to be named Matsuri, he does the unthinkable.

He asks Kisa-sama for advice.

It is an innocuous question, really, he barely alludes to anything even mildly scandalous. He simply asks how women expect their men to behave, not even in quite so many words. But the moment the words leave his mouth, Kisa-sama drops her chopsticks, Utakata-sama blanches bone-white, and Matsuri is so red that even her trademark scowl can't hide her embarrassment.

Gaara takes a vicious bite out of his onigiri and wonders what he's said wrong. He wants to understand, he's never done anything like this before, hell, a few weeks ago he didn't even know what these kinds of relationships entailed.

Kisa-sama clears her throat delicately and places her hand gently over his. Her eyes are soft, but he can still see her amusement twinkling within them.

"Is this about Hinata-chan?" she asks. She's grinning knowingly. He nods.

"She's a nice girl," Utakata-sama muses. He turns to Gaara, unsurprised. "Does she know how you feel?"

It's a matter-of-fact question that needs an equally matter-of-fact answer. "Of course."

Kisa-sama throws him a sultry look. "So. All this time, in that little room of yours? You've been trying out what you've learned in your lessons?"

Matsuri coughs exuberantly; it almost sounds like she's choking. Utakata gives her a concerned look, but she shakes her head vigorously to tell him she's fine and sips her water.

Gaara pauses. "I...have not." Then, "Should I be?"

Utakata launches himself from his seat and wedges himself between Kisa and Gaara before the woman can introduce any more ideas into his head. "Most certainly not. Not within hospital walls-"

"What do you mean, Uta-chan, talking like you and Hotaru haven't had a romp or two in the empty rooms-"

"As I said, not within hospital walls!" Utakata's ears are red, and he shoots Kisa-sama a violent look. She shrugs; the movement is strangely fluid on her catlike body.

"But," Gaara whispers, "I can't go beyond hospital walls." No matter how different his situation is, no matter how many friends he has here, he's still a prisoner. That hasn't changed; he's reminded of this everytime he wakes up to the sunrise and feels the cold glass between him and it.

The mood changes immediately. Kisa-sama has a somber expression on her face. Her mouth is strangely straight when it isn't curled into a smile. Utakata is looking up at him, wide-eyed and pained, and Matsuri looks like she feels nothing at all, which, for her, is good indication that she feels too much.

"Sorry," is all Utakata can mutter before shuffling back to his seat.

He grunts. "It isn't your fault."

Again, silence settles in. For a few minutes, nobody even touches their food, but then they remember that they are supposed to be relaxing and begin eating again.

"Women," Kisa suddenly says, shattering the quiet, "Are much simpler than you men assume." Her eyes are still on her food, and her movements are slow and smooth.

Gaara turns bodily to her. He's expressionless as usual, but his curiosity pushes through like hunger.

"We want to be respected. Don't act superior to us because you think you're a man- if there's a task, we can probaby do it just as well, if not better, than you can." Her eyes flicker up, and she smiles.

"Don't patronize us," Matsuri abridges, and then instantly reverts back to stone.

"Exactly. So no overprotectiveness, no excessive envy. We are kunoichi, not weak-kneed civilian women. Maybe they want a man to sweep them off their feet, but we would much rather keep ours on land."

Gaara nods. Kisa-sama is right- Hinata hates feeling weak, though in his state, he doesn't have the liberty to even pretend to be stronger than her.

"Be loyal. There are pretty women in the world, but we like your eyes on us and us alone."

Utakata smirks. "You mean like you do with your husband?"

Kisa tosses him a foul look. "Hiro isn't here," she says pointedly, "Besides, he knew what he was getting into when he asked me to marry him."

"I don't believe I'll have any problem with that," Gaara whispers.

"Neither do I, Sabaku-kun," Utakata says with a chuckle. "I'm certain that your intentions are pure."

"They are," he says, wondering how they could be otherwise. "I've never seen...never thought of anyone the way I do Hinata."

There's a resounding "Aawww," from around the table, and Matsuri makes a gagging sound and mutters that this much cuteness will give her indigestion.

"Yes, it's a little hard not to be a little jealous of Hinata-chan. A handsome young man sees her, and only her. Well, granted, said man harbors a psychotic demon inside of him, but I'm sure even Shuukaku must like her, ne?"

The others stiffen, appalled by Kisa-sama's flippancy on the matter. But she is completely calm; she pops an omelette into her mouth and winks at Gaara, who gives her a slightly lopsided grin (laughing is easy, so why is smiling so hard? He must work on this). They expect him to be furious, but actually he's glad. Kisa-sama has attacked head-on a subject the others have carefully tiptoed around. She's acknowledged what he is and in the same breath showed how much it doesn't matter, she's glad to be his friend anyway.

"I think..." he says, "I think he does. Or at least, he respects her."

Kisa raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Then, does he respect me?"

Gaara thinks hard for a moment. Shuukaku's never been this quiet before in his life, and he's never asked it for it's opinion on something so mundane. So when he feels the beast stir grumpily inside of him and hears it's annoyed reply, he's unsure of whether to be alarmed or amused.

"Not in the least," Gaara summarizes, and they laugh.

* * *

"It'll only be a week," Hinata says, arms crossed. She's pouting, and normally he would find this adorable, but she's doing that thing again, that "contemplating leaving him" thing, and it's a bit distressing.

"Too long." He's sitting on the bed, arms wrapped possessively around her waist and face buried in her stomach. She's standing and rolling her eyes in exasperation, but by the way she's twirling his hair in her fingers, he knows she isn't angry with him for behaving like a spoiled kid again.

"I-I haven't been home in months," she sighs. "I have to report my progress to Tsunade-sama and visit my friends. It'll be over before you know it."

It won't. He glances up pleadingly up at her, and she giggles aloud at the expression on a face like his- all angles and business. She carefully unwinds his arms and bends down to his eye-level, brushing back his hair.

"Gaara-kun," she says, "I swear that when I get back, I'll come straight to you, okay? In the meantime, just hang out with Utakata and pretend I'm just working late. Besides," she fishes into her pack and withdraws a scroll, which she unfurls with a flick of her wrist, "I'm leaving you homework."

He finally sighs and pulls away, looking down the list of tasks Hinata has left for him. Most of them he's used to- meditating, curl-ups, this many minutes on the treadmill- but a few look suspiciously as though they've been copied right out of an Academy study guide.

"Form at least three substantial shadow clones?" He reads aloud. "This is ninjutsu."

"It is," Hinata acknowledges. Her face has become Hyuuga again, unreadable. "When I get back, we'll focus on that."

"...but-?"

She's halfway to the door, but turns anyway. Her expression is stern, but her eyes warm.

"Gaara. You are shinobi. You've already lost three years of your life in this hole. Do you want to lose your livelihood as well?"

He can't answer. She bids him farewell, and then leaves. His chest tightens, but he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, reminding himself that Hinata has a life outside and away from him, and that it is unfair for him to try and rip that from her. Then again, he's never been particularly fair.

Later that day he catches Matsuri in the hall. They are both silent people, he doesn't have to ask to know that she isn't busy, just bow his head slowly and step in front of her to block her path.

"Hyuuga-sama has left," Matsuri mutters. She and Hinata are friends; he's seen the admiration in Matsuri's eyes when she looks up at the older kunoichi, and it's half of the reason he enjoys her company.

"Can you see chakra pathways?" he asks.

"Not without the right instruments," she replies, "Only a few bloodline limits can see them directly. Would you like me to check yours?"

Gaara nods. Matsuri doesn't ask for an explanation, just whips around and walks away. He follows. She turns an unfamiliar corner into a familiar room- he comes to these for his routine check-ups- and tells him to stand as straight as he can. He's accostumed to this, and stretches his arms out. She wears what look like thick goggles and scans him from head to toe, frowning.

"Your levels seem...normal," she says, confused. "I can see Shuukaku's in there, but it's oddly weak."

Hinata has told him of this conundrum. "Tailed Beasts' chakra is usually only visible when they are active." He sighs. "Normal, though. So there is no danger in me attempting ninjutsu?"

Matsuri's eyes widen to saucers. It's the most emotive he's ever seen her.

"Y-You can't!" she says in a harsh whisper. "You are a patient, Sabaku-san! It's against the rules!"

He's been here for four years and never respected the rules. Why start now?

"I am shinobi," he answers stolidly. "The jutsu are harmless, and will only be performed in my room."

She isn't convinced. "You are not shinobi, at least right now. You're unstable still- how can we let you?"

He hardens instantly. Unstable? Shuukaku hisses indignantly, although he is undoubtedly the source of said instability. We'll show you unstable.

But Gaara keeps his face composed and his teeth ground together. Matsuri's jaw is clenched tightly, her entire stance becomes defensive, and she looks like she's daring him to prove her right. He won't give her the satisfaction, though. He pushes the door open and leaves.

* * *

He knows that, once upon a time, he could produce clones with ease. But those usually were made up of sand and therefore required very little effort- he simply molded his likeness out of his element, pushed a bit of his chakra into it, voilà! Clones nearly as formidable as their owner. But shadow clones are a specialty of Konoha's shinobi, and they are made entirely of chakra, which is by far less malleable than his (blood-soaked) sand.

He follows the instructions step by step. First, he breathes deeply, then, expels his chakra from his chest, imagines it as a little ball of light. Then, he wills that ball to split. With his own image in mind-and this is where he gets hopelessly lost- he projects himself onto them.

So far, he's succeeded in making what looks like a red mop. It's disgraceful. A few years ago, he grumbles, he was arguably one of the deadliest shinobi in the world; now, he can't even make half-decent clones.

Maybe the image in his head isn't right, he muses. After all, he only looks at his reflection when absolutely necessary, which is not often. He walks into his bathroom, closes the door, and wipes away the condensation from the mirror.

His face is not a kind one. The cheekbones are sharp, the jawline defined. His eyes are slim and harsh, brutal cuts of black and green against a white backdrop. The lips are full but nearly as pale as the skin surrounding them. All this is topped by mussed, blood-red hair that falls just past bare brows. Hidden on the right side of his forehead is the tattoo, "love," etched forever into his flesh. He'd eliminated the artist afterward.

This is the face that Hinata loves, that Kisa-sama once said was beautiful. This cruel, deadly thing. He hates it.

When he returns to his room to work on the clones again, he thinks of the face. Two floating, angry heads poof beside him, gnarled and hideous. One slightly resembles Shuukaku.

* * *

The sun sets. It bleeds red and orange all across the sky, and Gaara watches it, entranced. The sun itself he cannot see- his room faces east- but he prefers it this way. Sunset means that another day has fully passed, that Hinata's seven days have become six. The clones sitting cross-legged next to him give the sky a regarding look. They are still imperfect; they move like cheap marionettes- too slowly and too woodenly, but they at least look like him. He will fix them tomorrow; he's exhausted tonight, his chakra pools are dangerously low, he needs to sleep.

Someone knocks. Gaara glances at his clones, who nod in unison and disappear into puffs of smoke, and then opens the door.

It's Kuronma.

Annoyance bubbles in the pit of his belly and threatens to boil over; he clutches the doorknob tightly and seriously contemplates slamming the door in the guy's face. This is the man who made Hinata cry, he thinks, and his fists clench.

But he doesn't. He glares for a moment, then opens the door and allows him inside. Kuronma's face is expressionless, a blank slate, and it reminds him briefly of Matsuri's. He shuts the door behind him.

"You..." Kuronma says gravely. "You and Hinata are together now?"

Gaara's eyes narrow. "Yes."

Kuronma shakes his head. It's been a while since he's seen him, and his hair has managed to grow so long that he has to tie it back to keep it out of the way. His Suna band is around his forehead.

"What happened to love being superfluous and unnecessary?"

Gaara's eye twitches. "Not with her."

Kuronma straightens. His mouth is set and his face unusually settled for his usually effusive personality. It's frightening, like the calm before a deadly storm.

"Nice room," he says. "Perks for dating the Hyuuga-heiress, I suppose."

Gaara pulls himself up as well. "Please do not speak of Hinata like that."

Kuronma's eyes are fire now; he smirks. "Oh. Excuse me. Just wondering, you know, why a woman like her would go for a crazy murderer in an insane asylum? Stuff like that just doesn't add up, you know." His smirk becomes vicious. "Unless, of course, you've found a way to taint her with your demon blood."

With that statement, he's crossed the line. "Get out," Gaara half-growls.

"Why should I?" Kuronma shouts. "What are you going to do to me if I don't? Even your demon isn't here anymore to help you out! I could break you in half if I wanted to...!"

Gaara feels Shuukaku rising, it's furious, it's craving blood. No, Gaara says to it, clenches his fists, my chakra levels are low. If you come out...

_...We'll transform_, the demon roars in response. _And I'll rip this impertinet little bastard into shreds. _

Exactly what he wants, Gaara says, and it's only when Kuronma quirks an eyebrow does he realize he's spoken aloud.

"Talking to your demon?" he says ineffectually. "You should listen to him, you know. I bet he wants to kill me."

Gaara opens his mouth to respond, and all that comes forth is a deep-throated, menacing growl.

"Was that it?" Kuronma says, sounding amused. "He didn't sound very nice. I suppose this counts as self defense now?"

Gaara watches the chakra surge to his fingertips. Lightly, he presses against a pressure point in his chest. At first, it feels like nothing, like Kuronma has just poked him. But then he feels a rush; his chakra, flooding furiously out of his system. He falls forward to his knees- even when he was starving in his old cell he's never felt so much like he was dying. He gasps for air, but it elludes him; his hand reaches up to clutch at his stammering heart but catches shirt instead.

Then he feels a flare, Shuukaku's red-hot chakra overpowering him, and the first thing he feels is relief, he isn't going to die, but the second is horror. Kuronma is trying to force us to transform, he reminds Shuukaku desperately, don't be his puppet, but all Shuukaku sees is blood and he pushes forward, and Gaara can't fight back because he's half-forgotten how.

That's when his shackles activate. The shock is immediate and terrible-overloaded like this, they've defaulted to disaster settings and are sucking back chakra so quickly that it forms sparks all around him. He hears them sputter, and Shuukaku shrieks furiously. His body is shaking, spasming against the carpet, he's reaching for help but...but...

Kuronma looks down at him indifferently, cruelly. He waits until the spasms become shudders, until Gaara turns to his side and draws his knees to his chest and tries to will the pain away, before snorting in satisfaction and walking out the door. It clicks shut.

* * *

**A/N**: Poor Gaara. Initially, this was two chapters, but had I posted them separately the first would have been only about 600 words, so I just gave you guys this whole chunk. I usually hate working with OCs, but I needed a naughty motherly figure, and so Kisa came to be, joining Kuronma in my legion of made-up characters. Utakata and Matsuri are real, though. I guess the drama starts here?


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **It'd actually be hilarious if I owned Naruto. Then fanfictions would just be for my plot bunnies gone astray or scenes that didn't make the final cut. However, I don't. Which sucks.

**Chapter Seven**

He doesn't know how long he lies there, doesn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he wakes up on the floor with his face sticky with spittle. His gaze drifts to his wrists. The shackles blink lethargically, signaling that at least he's alive, if only barely. He tries to lift himself, but it takes all of his effort to even move his arm. His tongue is dry, his saliva thick and stale.

Cry out, the sensible part of him thinks, cry out and maybe someone passing by will find you and help you. But what if that someone happened to be Kuronma? He wouldn't bear that. Never.

So he remains silent. Paralyzed, he tries to think of pleasant memories- Kisa-sama's jokes, Utakata-sama's laughs, the way Hinata tasted that day, like tears and herbal tea.

The sun has long ago risen; it's rays are warm on his cheeks. He hears bustling outside his door. If he concentrates, he can tell just how many nurses are passing by, rolling carts filled with food and instruments. Who will find him? Maybe no one. He heals quickly- Shuukaku has kept him from what, for other shinobi, would certainly be fatal, but chakra is much harder to replenish than flesh.

A few hours pass. Why hasn't anyone brought him breakfast? He wonders. Hesitantly, he drags himself up to his knees, bracing himself on wobbly arms. They buckle under his weight, but he manages to boost himself up long enough to sit up and position himself against the wall. He pants from over-exertion. His entire body trembles, as though the effort is too much for it.

"He'll pay." Both he and Shuukaku say it aloud and in unison, and the result is a haunting whisper underlayed with a guttural snarl. They've bonded with a single goal- for once, Gaara doesn't fear that his demon will try to overtake him. When Shuukaku fixes it's eyes upon a target, he hunts it relentlessly, endlessly. Kuronma will regret this, deeply.

We won't kill him, Gaara reminds Shuukaku. I won't kill him.

In his mind's eye, he sees the demon's sand-covered face stretch into a ghastly, toothy smile. No, it responds, we'll do much worse.

* * *

It's Utakata-sama who finds him, coincidentally, around lunch. By then, Gaara has recovered somewhat and moved to his bed, where he lies quite still. The shackles are blinking more quickly, but he's still exhausted. When the older medic approaches his cot, he doesn't even have the energy to send him away.

Utakata takes one look at him and freezes; Gaara grins grimly. Half of him wants to tell him how he ended up like this (Utakata, cool as he is a majority of the time, has a temper and a few truly terrifying jutsu under his belt), but then Shuukaku reminds him whose battle this is to fight.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Gaara grins grimly. Lie, Shuukaku murmurs.

"I got overenthusiastic with my training." he says simply. Utakata's eyes narrow; he isn't stupid, and Gaara's half-truth is obviously lacking.

Lie better, Shuukaku drawls.

"I tried some ninjutsu." Upon seeing Utakata's shocked expression, he frowns, irritated. "I am shinobi as well, you know."

"I do," he says emphatically. "It's just that it's..."

"Against the rules," Gaara finishes darkly. "The same rules that kept me chained to a wall for the better part of this year." He grins; it's toothy and slightly manic. "I think you should know where I'd like to stuff those...rules."

"Gaara," Utakata says emphatically, "I don't like them either, and, honestly, I could care less whether you practice in here. But, erm, apart from Kisa, Hinata-chan, and I, only a few people...trust you. It isn't safe to test them."

Gaara closes his eyes. He's passed the first stage, Utakata believes him-

"Regardless," Utakata is saying, "I don't really believe you. With Hinata-chan's shackles, you can't really drain yourself this far without some kind of interference."

-or not. Gaara reminds himself never to insult Utakata's intelligence by underestimating him ever again.

Utakata's smile is grim, but oddly understanding. "You won't tell me who, or when, or why, and I'll accept that for now- a shinobi should fight his own battles, right?" He turns away, the whips back around. "However, next time I find you hurt, you will tell me who and I will find them." His eyes flash dangerously before softening again. "I'll go get you something to eat."

True to his word, Utakata returns, food and Kisa-sama in tow. The kunoichi walks purposefully, and her mouth is set again; even from the door he can tell she is furious. His heart thrums a little- these are true friends, he thinks, these people actually care about me.

"Baby!" Kisa-sama shouts as she launches herself at his bed. She looks him over, and then her face contorts with anger. "Who the hell did this to you? Throw away your pride, Gaara, I can feel foreign chakra all over the room; it's layered like soot, and it won't benefit you at all not to tell us."

Too perceptive, Gaara thinks. Shuukaku just thinks that his host, for a person who speaks without ever showing emotion, is a terrible liar.

"Kisa," Utakata says, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "He'd rather not."

"Like a give a damn what he'd 'rather' do," she scoffs, shaking him off. "Listen, Gaara, if you don't tell me, I will investigate. And when I find out what scum did this-I'll wring him dry!"

"Then investigate," Gaara says warily. Resting all day like this has given him some energy, but speaking so much, and listening to Kisa-sama's shrill cries for revenge, is immensely tiring.

"Listen, squirt-"

"I want you to go ahead and investigate, if you wish. I just ask that you don't act until I have dealt duly with the perpetrator."

Kisa stands stock-still as she considers his proposal. She sifts her hand through her hair, and it's painfully obvious that the last thing she wants is sloppy seconds, but he knows she will give in. It shows in the way her stance relaxes, her shoulders lower and her lips arch.

"Fine," she hisses.

Utakata, who has resigned himself to a corner of the room, stands. "Well, then," he says devilishly, "If you plan to teach this guy a lesson," he lowers his voice, and Gaara realizes that as gentle as he is, the man can almost seem evil, "we'll have to train."

His eyes light up like beacons. "Train? Shinobi training?"

"Of course," Utakata says. "I think Hinata-chan has done a fine job in prepping your body for it."

"Best thing you've said all month," Kisa-sama says approvingly. "When should we start?"

Gaara's heart is thrumming wildly. Hinata's ninjutsu instructions had initiated it, but now he can feel it surging, that stupid, stubborn feeling that pushes through no matter how hard he tries to squelch it, that hope. He hates beings hopeful- he can only be disappointed.

"The moment Gaara-kun over here thinks he can walk, we begin," Kisa offers, grinning wildly.

Utakata nods. "So. Tomorrow morning?

Gaara shakes his head and heaves himself out of bed. Hinata will be back in six days; he has to do this before she arrives. Her presence makes no difference-he'll have Kuronma crying for mercy regardless- but he doesn't want her lamenting over him. Time is of essence. He takes a few wobbly steps until he's towering over Kisa. She grins wickedly.

"Now would be preferable," he says. She gives him a playful punch that feels like a bag of bricks on his shoulder.

"That's my boy," she says, and cracks her knuckles. "Ante up, Uta-chan. We've got work to do."

* * *

At first he's a little nervous about sneaking into the hospital's staff-only training room, but then he reasons that he's already been frequenting the staff-only mess hall and gym and shakes it off. Besides, he reminds himself, he is sneaking around with Kisa-sama, a former Anbu and seal-master, and Utakata, a jounin who is only just because he opted out of the Anbu lifestyle. Together, they are all too capable of cloaking their chakra signatures, slipping into the room, and locking it shut with a nearly impenetrable seal.

Kisa-sama tests his physical capabilities first. She's a hard teacher, nearly as hard as Hinata, but not quite. He follows her orders with relative ease, and it's only after Kisa-sama commends him that he realizes that Hinata's excercise regimen was geared specifically toward shinobi- a fit civilian, asked to do the same, would likely fail miserably.

But after that, things get infinitely more difficult. Utakata steps in to teach him chakra control, and this is something he's never understood, because Shuukaku has always aided him. The small things are harder than expected; making clones was difficult enough, but manipulating his own appearance is even harder. His attempts at turning himself into replicas of Kisa-sama are laughable, and indeed she laughs, but not before half-beating him to death. By the advent of the next hour he's finally done it, and two Kisas stand facing each other and grinning. Kisa pinches his transfigured belly and complains that she isn't nearly so thick there, but she's beaming so brightly that he knows he's done it right.

He progresses quickly, maybe because he subconsciously remembers what to do, or maybe the thought of bringing Kuronma to his knees is extraordinarily motivating. By the end of the day, he's zipped through a majority of the ninjutsu in the Academy handbook. His chakra is relatively low by now, but he feels oddly energized. As Kisa-sama undoes the seal and Utakata places an advanced cloaking genjutsu around him, Gaara can't help but wish it weren't over. Even when he was shinobi, he'd never really been trained. Baki-sensei had taught him some, the bare minimum. This was his own fault. Back then, training had meant being around people, people who would only look upon him with contempt, people who smelled deliciously of salt sweat, people who occasionally bled and left pools of mesmerizing red in their wakes. He'd endured it for a while and let Shuukaku teach him the rest. Baki-sensei had not protested.

Things were different now. He was more aware of the triumph that came with a successfully executed technique than the smell of the bodies of his comrades. He relished the sweat and utter focus that came with each jutsu.

"You done good," Kisa-sama says, flashing him a grin, as Utakata releases the genjutsu. They are at his door, and he knows this is good-bye for the day, because if his two new sensei are absent for any longer they will be missed, and if they are missed too long suspicions will arise.

"Be sure to sleep well," Utakata-sama advises. "Your levels are low again, and before we can train again they must be replenished."

Gaara nods twice, once in response to Kisa-sama's praise and the other to acknowledge Utakata's advice, and then closes his door. It's only when he collapses backwards onto his bed does he realize how truly exhausted he is again.

* * *

**A/N: **While I try to be open(ish) to crit, I do want the crit I do recieve to be qualified. One reviewer mentioned that my present-tense here was amateur-ish and that this story would be better off in past. While I do hold that I've chosen to write in present-tense for stylistic reasons _and _that I'm not, for any reason, going back to rewrite this in past (hellz to tha noes), I do want to know if anyone else is of the same opinion. If you are, that means that I have to work on some aspect of my writing. If not…then, well, we carry on. :D


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I think the general consensus is that present tense is no problem. This chapter is longer than usual. Couldn't figure out where to cut it—so enjoy, I suppose. :D Also, since I wrote this story a few months ago, I usual proofread. But today I'm being lazy. Please forgive any stupid mistakes, k?

**Disclaimer: **Naruto isn't mine. *Cries*

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

The sand rises around him, moving in rhythmic waves like water. It laps against his arms, warm, comforting, embracing him like a child. He relaxes in it, lets it lope around his legs, swallow his chest. It nestles around his neck now, its every brush gentle, and he smiles with true joy as it wraps around his head. Its hold becomes crushing, just before the end he feels an inexplicable bliss. Together, he thinks, we're dying together, and then he wakes up.

Someone is at the door, knocking nervously. His eyes flit to his window-it's dark as pitch outside, he's probably been asleep only a few hours. A part of him reminds himself that it is unwise to willingly allow in a stranger in the dead of the night, especially in an insane asylum, but he's feeling restless again and can't possibly go back to sleep knowing someone is there waiting.

He rolls out, catching himself on one knee, and stumbles to the door. The chakra is familiar and far from hostile. He opens it.

Matsuri looks up at him. When he returns the stare with greater intensity, her gaze flickers down nervously and he feels like he's won something, though he's not quite sure what.

"Can I come in?" she says in a voice much too soft and unsure to belong to the steely kunoichi.

He doesn't reply, just holds on tightly to the doorknob and stares down at her, as though half-expecting her to sprout horns. Again, she tries to hold his gaze, but then her eyes lower again and he knows what this is she's feeling- it's shame. He knows this feeling well, but the surge of pity that follows is new.

He opens the door silently. She steps inside and closes it.

"Gaara-kun," she says, clenching her fists.

He doesn't let her finish. "I've been training, you know."

He pauses just long enough to turn, to catch her expression. The moonlight pools onto the floor and splashes over her face.

"I-I know," she admits.

"Are you going to report me?" he grins, and Shukaku tries to help, and though he can't see himself he knows he must look horrible.

"No," she says softly.

He turns to his window. Two days are already gone, just like that, and how much closer is he to his goal? How much stronger is he? Matsuri's reflection is sad, the downcast eyes are nearly somber, but he knows that it's an illusion, that when he looks at the real her he'll just meet stone.

So he's more than surprised when he turns and finds her shaking with silent sobs. The tears look alien and out of place on her face. She wipes them away hastily.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He raises a brow. He can barely count the number of times his attackers have apologized to him profusely when he has them in his grasp, but this one seems different. When he doesn't speak, she swallows a breath and repeats herself.

"I'm sorry!" She drops to her knees in a bow; her forehead is brushing the carpet, and Gaara isn't quite sure how to react, because out of all the countless possible scenarios, he wasn't expecting this one.

"For what?" He grins again, fleetingly. Her brown hair looks silver, bleached by the night.

"You know," she says stubbornly.

He regards her coldly, a part of him wondering how long she'll lay like this, her defenses lowered, her nose nuzzled into the floor, rebreathing old breath. He wants her to stay there and repent, because he's a cruel person by nature, because Shukaku has never been the only one to take pleasure in other people's discomfort.

"Ah," he drawls. "But you were telling the truth."

_I am unstable,_ he thinks. _All I have to do is let go for a moment and you're done._

She looks up now, with wide, fearful eyes.

"Maybe," she whispers. "But...even if you are, I should have supported you. As a friend, I should have been there for you. And..." she takes a shuddering breath, "I wasn't."

He's exhausted. Right then, he remembers that it's late, that he needs to sleep or he won't be able to train again tomorrow, that the last time he let a former "friend" into his room, he almost died.

"You are shinobi, Matsuri," he sighs, "Friends are dangerous things to have."

"I want to be yours," she whispers. "Please."

Gaara squats down just as she looks up again. This time, she holds his gaze directly- she's said what she needed to say, now she awaits the verdict.

It's a strange thing, to forgive someone, Gaara thinks. Hinata had spoken once of it, of how, afterwards, her love for her nii-san had been strengthened, fortified, how their dedication to each other is now unquestionable.

He wonders now, as he holds his hand out to Matsuri, how their relationship will change.

She wonders whether his smile has always been so beautiful.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay with bringing her?" Kisa-sama says, tossing Matsuri a highly acerbic glare. Gaara had briefly explained the happenings between them the day Hinata left, and Kisa had been far from pleased. Actually, he's quite certain that Matsuri is on Kisa-sama's rather extensive list of possible 'suspects.'

Matsuri stares back stolidly.

"I'm sure," Gaara says.

Utakata does not look consoled. "She's only chuunin, Gaara. Bringing her could only possibly complicate things."

"I can be useful," Matsuri says sourly, pushing herself to her tallest height (a whopping five foot nil) "You need someone to stand guard while you use the training room. If you just use a seal, someone who tries to get in will figure you out."

"Our chakra signatures are cloaked," Kisa retorts, "They'd just think it's locked."

"You don't cloak your seals, Kisa-sama," Matsuri observes with a sigh. "Even a lowly chuunin like myself can feel the power of that thing."

Kisa-sama freezes, her teeth gnashed, and Utakata chuckles, because they both know how right she is. Matsuri smirks smugly and nobody pushes the issue any further, except Kisa, who makes sure to describe in excrutiating detail exactly what she'll do to Matsuri if she betrays them.

Matsuri doesn't bat an lash, just follows behind Gaara with the steely-eyed devotion of a Doberman. Gaara isn't sure he's comfortable with the way her eyes soften slightly when he glances down at her. She isn't a docile spirit- kindness isn't becoming on her.

* * *

Three days pass. He has long ago mastered the elementary jutsu from Konoha, Suna and Kirigakure. (Utakata's techniques are the most difficult- he's never even dreamt of learning water-based techniques, though past experience tells him that they can be immensely useful.) Without his sand, long-range attacks are still difficult for him, but he's learning to lace his chakra into nearby objects and manipulate them. This part of the regimen he keeps from his three sensei- it's far too closely related to his previous medium to be acceptable- but he practices this most arduously, because even if he can dispatch an entire army of mobile, furious clones, he can't use them effectively against a guy with a chakra-draining technique.

It's getting harder to keep himself in check. The more in tune with his inner nin he becomes, the more in touch with his element he is. He becomes aware of the grains of sand lining his windowsill, of it swirling in slow convection currents around vents. Soon, he can feel it in the walls- and this is by far the most frustrating, because both he and Shukaku yearn to reach out for it, let it dig under his fingernails and sieve through his hair again, mold it and mix it with his chakra the way he did so long ago.

That's too much to ask for, he knows. If he has his sand, there's no guarantee he'll leave Kuronma alive, and killing one of Suna's shinobi will only land him back in chains.

He sighs and wonders, not for the first time, whether six days of training is enough to take on a jounin, even for the former nightmare of Suna. It's a fleeting thought. He's only voiced it aloud once, and Kisa-sama nearly incapacitated him for it. Still, it makes him realize that there's something he does hate feeling more than hope- doubt.

* * *

"A letter," the nurse says, inviting herself into Gaara's room. He looks up, catches her eyes (marble green, he thinks, like a cat's), and frowns. She's an older lady; her thick red hair is graying at the roots, but she's abominably flirtatious. Hinata thinks she's hilarious.

She smiles and hands him an envelope. He takes it gingerly and holds it an arm's length away from himself. Sabaku no Gaara does not receive mail- it's a fact known to the entire facility. He nods to the nurse, and she winks and leaves. He peels the envelope open, afraid to tear it, afraid that ruining it will make the message inside worth just a little bit less.

His heart drops; it isn't from Hinata, her handwriting is much neater. But then he reads the name at the end and his stomach clenches and he thinks he's going to be sick, because it's been four years, dammit, and he isn't sure whether he can handle anymore forgiving.

In the most heinous chicken-scratch at the bottom of the page, his sister's name is scrawled. He stares at it blankly for a moment and thinks that it can't be real, he's being fooled by someone, but something about the coarseness of the paper and the nearly illegible writing reminds him so much of home. It's thick, about eight pages long.

He reads.

It starts out simply, because his sister is a simple person and isn't particularly good with words. She writes as though she's talked to him just yesterday, with a "Hey what's up" that is highly inappropriate for the situation. She describes her own happenings -(I'm jounin right now, do a lot of ambassador stuff between Konoha and Suna. Boring as hell, this work is, makes me want to go back on the field and kick some ass)-then Kankuro's-(He has a team of genin now, would you believe it? Kankuro hates kids, but I think these ones have rubbed off on him good)-even Baki's (still an old, cranky bachelor. Sometimes he tries to give us wise advice and it turns out he's just talking shit again.) She talks about the Konoha shinobi she's dating, and Gaara is surprised to find that she knows him, he's a friend of Hinata's, the tactical genius.

Then it quickly takes a somber turn. "Our father is dead," she tells him, four words, a lone paragraph. She doesn't explain yet how or why it happened- all he knows is that his selfish, conniving, hateful father is now food for the worms, and mostly he's glad, this is the man who killed his mother, but part of him feels nothing. He's detached, like those words are; the man's death is a distant observation that he can't really relate to. She briefly explains that while she and Kankuro technically have joint leadership, the council is making most of Suna's decisions until someone rises up and claims the title of Kazekage.

The next words nearly make his heart stop.

"In his will, our father said that... He wanted to leave the position to you."

He stares blankly at this line for a moment. Surely Temari was drunk when she was writing this. That or he's reading it wrong, because the same man who put a terrible beast into him and then tried to have him killed cannot have wanted to leave the leadership of his whole village to him.

It makes no sense, but he reads on.

"He didn't go the shinobi way, you know. He got sick and died like a rich civilian, and I think in his sickbed, he had a lot of time to think- that or he went delirious. Either way, he kept calling for us, and when we showed, he'd always ask where you were. We'd never say anything, and after a while he'd just sigh aloud and roll over and say that it didn't matter, you wouldn't have come if you could. This is confusing as anything for all of us- I really wish I could tell you what he was playing at. It was weird. One day, when we came to him, he just cried. Didn't say a word, just blubbered to himself. It's like he finally realized how horrible a dad he was. When he finally went, none of us knew how to feel. And when we read his will, it's like everything that was supposed to be unquestionable- stuff we always knew to be true, that wouldn't change, wasn't anymore.

"I think it's his way of saying that, despite everything, he's sorry."

God, his head hurt. What was this? Why was she telling him this now? His mouth is dry; he continues but really wants to stop.

"We were scared of you once. I'm sure you knew. Kankuro especially. I wish I could tell you that there was a time when you were just baby brother, the cute little ginger kid who dragged his Teddy bear around, but there wasn't. I'm the oldest. I knew Mom-it's not like with Kankuro; he doesn't even really remember what she looked like. I remember everything- the way she smelled, the sound of her voice, the taste of her homemade ice cream. I remember her before she was pregnant with you, when she was all hard lines and thick hair, and sometimes when I look in the mirror I think that the council members aren't lying; I really do look like her now.

"I remember the way she screamed bloody murder the night you were born.

"You didn't cry when you came out, but Mom did. They didn't let me see her, but I saw you- covered in her blood, your little green eyes wide open, as though you knew exactly what you'd done, and I hated you then, I hated you more than I feared you, and I wished you'd die too, go away, so that I didn't have to be reminded of what you'd done every time you looked at me.

"After a while, I didn't hate you as much as I felt sorry for you. Back then, I didn't know what father had done to you. He never let us near you for too long- I think because he was determined to keep you away from any kind of emotion. He wanted to make a robot, a tool- use his own kid as just another pawn for power. Stupid man-didn't he know that you were human too? We get screwy without love. I guess I'm as much as fault there, too, cuz I listened to him, he told me you were dangerous and a monster and I believed it, though your little eyes were always calling out to me. I think I wanted him to be right. Mom was the only person who treated me like a little girl, the one person I could say I loved, and she was dead while you were alive.

"But then one day, when I was walking past your room, you came to the door and grabbed my shirt. You'd been crying. You said my name like a question, like you weren't really sure that you were right. I looked at you. A Sunakagure citizen, yet you looked like the sun had never touched you. Your eyes- you were just starting to get those bruises, and you looked almost sick. But your grip was strong and you looked like you wanted me to stay.

"And...well, you know what I did. Yanked away and ran. Took off. I looked back and saw you standing there, looking at your feet, sobbing, and for a moment I almost wanted to turn back, but I didn't.

"Sometimes I wonder. If I'd stayed, would things have been different? Maybe I could have helped you. Maybe when you were having those terrible nightmares, I could have comforted you. You wouldn't have had to resort to that terrible "love myself" philosophy. But you grew up, and that crap with Yashamaru happened, and I thought it was too late. When we were put on the team together, I figured I'd give you a wide breadth, let you do what you wanted, and try to maintain a...civil relationship? Anything so you wouldn't kill me, cuz once I saw what Shukaku could do, what you could do, me and Kankuro's lives were, to me, always at stake.

"I've thought about it before. There've been times when Shukaku wanted blood so badly during missions that you'd lie awake and shake all night. And we were right there. You could have satiated yourself in an instant, swallowed us up in your sand and be done with it. But you didn't. The next enemy nin we ran into was toast, of course, but we weren't, and that's what what was important. The time we spent with you was probably when we were safest- when we fought, if a guy got close to one of us, you dispatched them, easy. There were holes in your theory. I'm not going to say that you loved us- that's for you to know- but you must have felt something for us, because you refused to let us die.

"I can't tell you for sure how I feel now. The day you left, Kankuro and I were somewhere between shocked and relieved. It was like we'd finally gotten a terrifying aura away from us- I'm sorry, but I mean it, if you still aren't scary, you sure as hell were then. Nobody told us where you were. We didn't ask. We didn't want to know. I think I didn't want myself to think up possibilities, think my kid brother was finally dead, because I didn't want to be glad. At the same time, I knew that if I did know, a part of me would want to come see you, and that I'd resist it for a while before giving in. And if I found you, I'd be torn again. I would find you, and we'd be back to that awkward cordiality, and I'd want to run up and hug you and call you a stupid kid, but I'd be too scared.

"Do you hate me for saying all this? I think I'd understand if you do, but hear me out. When we went to Konoha, something happened with that blonde ninja. I know it did. Kid never kept his mouth shut, and he beat you up pretty freaking good. After we left the infirmary, your eyes were different. We ran into, like twenty shinobi on the way home. You let them all pass. You've always been a quiet sucker, but it's a three day journey, and you didn't speak once, not even to tell us where to set up camp. And then a few days later you're gone.

"I didn't find out what really happened until last night.

"I'm in Konoha right now. Shikamaru ran into this girl, Hyuuga Hinata..." Gaara swallows, this is so hard, too hard, but there's only a little left, he must finish, "...and they started talking. I knew she was a softie when I saw her- she's got this gentleness about her, and she's constantly fidgeting. I hated that at first. I don't like nice girls- they're usually so weak. But Shikamaru seemed to like her, and he doesn't like stupid girls either, so I assumed she was alright. He said something that made her expression change, it got hard all of a sudden, and she pushed past Shikamaru and stepped in front of me.

"At first I thought she was challenging me. You know, that she had something serious going on with Nara and was trying to stake a claim, and I was getting ready to waste them both. But then she gives me this long, hard look, and asks, 'Are you the daughter of the late-Kazekage?' I nod, her face softens, and this girl who I don't even know grabs both of my hands and tells me she's in love with my brother.

"At first, I think she's talking about Kankuro, cuz, you know, it's been four years, I haven't heard a word from you, and I assume you must be a goner. But then she laughs and shakes her head and says, 'No, your other brother. Gaara.'

The ink is smudged here.

"I don't know for sure what happened then. I just started to cry. I had to leave, cuz I hate crying, especially in front of Nara- the bastard would never let me live it down- so I just took off running. I could tell she was following me, she wasn't being particularly discreet, and when I finally stopped she did too. She gave me a minute to get a handle on myself, then came over and put a hand on my shoulder, and told me everything.

"You turned yourself in. I hadn't known that. You recognized that you had a problem and asked to be fixed, and she happened to be the one who came down to fix you. She told me you have friends, people who really go out of their way for you. She said that your situation really sucked for a while, but things are better now. She wants you to be happy, and she isn't quite sure whether you're there just yet. She had pictures. You look good. You've grown up a lot- I wonder if you're any taller than me now. In one of them, you're smiling. And I realized that, though I'm your big sis, I'd never made you smile like that, like your whole world was hunky-dory. I'd never even fucking tried.

"I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm sorry. I should've done more. But sorry isn't giving you your childhood back, now, is it?

"That girl- she really cares about you. There you are, in an asylum with senile old folks and wasted shinobi, yet she found you, and the way she talks about you, you'd think you were the sun. It's almost disgusting the way her big white eyes light up when she talks about you. I mean, she's the one who told me to write this. I didn't know what to say. Honestly, I don't know whether I've said anything at all. She said just to pour out what I thought, and that maybe it could help us all...heal. So. Here's to healing.

"I want to come see you. Hinata says she'll be heading back soon- by the time you get this, she'll probably be getting ready to set out. I want to come. I won't come in right away. She'll come first, and if you don't want me around, I'll leave. I'll understand. In the meantime, be careful. Watch your back until I can watch it for you.

"Love, Temari."

He holds the letter in his hands for several minutes after he's done. He's breathing heavily, it's so hard to think right now. It's like she said. Everything he thought to be true is now just warped, and he can't wrap his mind around it.

The lump in his throat is becoming impossible to bear. He crumples down on himself and weeps.

* * *

**A/N: **Special thanks to Gaaras1Girl for her awesome-sauce review! Those things make me smile! :D Btdubs, in this Matsuri is about 13/14, Kisa is in her mid-thirties, and Utakata is early-thirties. Just giving you some details fo' yo' reading pleasure. B)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Hello, my lovelies. New chapter! Enjoy it while it lasts, for I may/may not be bitching at you at the end of it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto.

* * *

**FChapter Nine**

"You look like hell," Kisa-sama says the next afternoon when she arrives at Gaara's door to summon him for more training. He scowls.

"Nice to see you too," he mutters. His eyes must still be red- he has no idea how long he cried last night, just that he feels like he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep. Something tells him that when Hinata arrives, his sister will have to wait awhile while he monopolizes her. She's too good to him. He's needed this for a while.

They take an odd turn, not to the training room, but to one of the intervention rooms, fitted with a long, comfortable sofa. Kisa gestures for him to enter; he gives her a confused look but obliges anyway.

Utakata is already there, hands pressed together. He looks from Kisa-sama to Gaara, forms a quick handsign that appears to do nothing, and then sits again.

"Don't look so alarmed," he says reassuringly, although he looks a bit perturbed himself. "It's a force-release technique. It breaks even the strongest henge. Supposedly it can even break Tsunade of Konoha's age transformation jutsu."

Gaara narrows his eyes. "Why is this necessary?"

Kisa closes the door. "We have an intruder in the facility," she says, jaw set. "Some of us thought we sensed a foreign chakra a few weeks ago, but it's just been affirmed. Whoever it is is wearing a henge. We have to check everyone."

He knows there's more. He folds his arms and waits. Utakata and Kisa exchange glances. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly; he nods. It's a communication between partners that he wouldn't have been able to catch a few months ago.

Utakata stands and looks him carefully in the eye.

"Gaara," he says slowly, "this is very important. We need to...we need to know who attacked you."

Gaara feels Shuukaku react before he can respond; his fists clench and the muscles in his neck tighten as he tries to fight back the horrible howls the monster is trying to let loose. For the past week, his goal has been simple- defeat Kuronma. It's kept him driven in Hinata's absence, and kept his demon satiated and distracted from tormenting him. Telling them will change everything. _'They'll try to stop you_,' Shuukaku screams. Its cries are nearly deafening.

"Listen, Gaara," Kisa interjects, "this is important. Whoever it is can't maintain a good henge and hide their chakra at the same time. The stuff was all over your room, remember?"

"We were asked to question you," Utakata says somberly. "You have to give us answers, or the next guys will come. They aren't nearly as pleasant. Please. One question. You answer it, and we learn so much."

They don't understand, he thinks. Right now, he isn't being quiet because he doesn't want to tell them (he's reasonable enough to do that,) but Shuukaku is resisting and resisting hard. He needs to collect himself, or the next time he opens his mouth all that will come out is a bark. He swallows heavily and pushes the beast aside, tries to imagine he doesn't exist, flattens him against one side of his mind. _'I'm boss now,_' he tells it, _'Don't speak out of turn.'  
_  
"Kuronma," he mutters, and then drops onto the sofa, because Shuukaku isn't particularly happy with Gaara's claim to dominance and is currently giving him the mother of all migraines.

Utakata and Kisa both swear, almost in unison. He looks up, confused.

"What?" Gaara asks, and Shuukaku, curious, finally shuts up.

Kisa rounds on him, enraged. "Dammit, Gaara! You're in tune with Kuronma- you two were friends, weren't you? How the hell could you not notice?" She jabs him painfully in the chest. He looks down at her, brow furrowed.

"He confronted me!" he shouts, and they know that he's pissed, because Gaara is never one to make noise. And then he sees the wild look in Kisa's eyes, and repeats her words in his head, and sits back. "What are you saying? That that wasn't Kuronma?"

"That is precisely what we are saying." Utakata flips the hair out of his eyes. "Do the honors, Kisa?"

The kunoichi nods and begins a series of complex handsigns before pushing forcefully against the door. Gaara knows this seal; she's used it a million times in his presence- it's a charm that keeps eavesdroppers out.

"When was the last time before the incident that Kuronma spoke to you?"

"Three weeks ago?" Gaara admits. "And then, a few days later, he and Hinata had an argument..."

"...We know," Kisa says, putting her head in her hands. "He confessed to her in the mess hall, very loudly, as was his style. She rejected him and he stalked off. He had a mission the next morning, so none of us were really concerned when he didn't show up the next day..." she wrings her hands.

"What do you mean?" It's starting to make sense, but there are some things too horrible to believe.

"This morning, one of the civilians found him...in a broom closet. Some of the med ninjas have already aged the body. It's been there three weeks. Whoever killed him put some sort of strong cloaking jutsu on him-it must have just now worn out."

His mouth goes dry.

His first friend in this place is dead. The first man to speak to him like he was a normal human being...dead. The thought echoes emptily in his head. And this person he's been hating studiously for the past month has been wearing Kuronma's face like it's nothing, mocking the man's memory. All this time, Kuronma had remained his friend. All this time...

"...They're sure?" it's a senseless question, but he needs them to confirm this.

"Certain." Utakata presses his face into his hands.

"He was a good guy," Kisa mutters. _Good guys are always the first to trust, they think, and therefore the first to die. Kuronma was no different._

"So whoever attacked me had been watching us."

Both shinobi look up. Gaara's hands are balled at his sides, he's shaking like a leaf, and he looks sick and pallid. He's felt sorrow before, but it's usually been for himself, and this kind of grief is very different from the self-loathing he's used to.

"He knew about me and Hinata," Gaara whispers, "About my new room. Even about Shuukaku. You could only know this if you were already inside, or..."

"...Or if you had someone else inside to provide information for you," Kisa finishes. "Gaara, someone's got in for you."

"No shit," Utakata growls. "But why now? You've been here a while. If someone really wanted revenge for your past...indiscretions, you'd think they'd try for it earlier."

"You're right," Kisa agrees, "It doesn't make much sense."

Except it does. Gaara's heard of men who've waited decades for the perfect vengeance. Men who work tirelessly toward a single goal, devoting their entire lives to the demolition of those fool enough to wrong them. The Uchiha is a brilliant example. Gaara's killed countless people, shinobi and non-shinobi alike- there are many more angry family members waiting for his demise.

But then the last line in Temari's letter comes to mind. "Be careful," it had said. He'd taken it as a casual way of saying good-bye, or an example of Temari's lack of eloquence, but now, it sounds like a warning. Like she knew something was afoot.

"Be careful," he mouths aloud. If Kuronma had heard this advice, he wouldn't have died. Hell, maybe if he'd made sure he visited him, he would have caught something off about his signature.

"Why didn't he kill me, then?" Gaara says aloud. "He could have finished me easily. After he used that strange technique, I couldn't even move."

"He could have sensed someone approaching," Utakata muses. "Or the technique was costly, his henge could have been fading."

"Or," Kisa says, "That first one was a warning. Letting you know not to be complacent." Her eyes harden. "Utakata. Can you get the lists for all of the nurses who've done rounds in Gaara's unit? They are the only ones who have direct daily contact with Gaara apart from us."

"I've already got it." He scans the list purposefully- it's several pages long, but Gaara has long ago learned that Utakata is something of a modest genius. If there is a pattern, he'll find it.

Minutes of silence pass before Kisa can't stand it anymore. She plops down on the floor and empties her pack. She picks up a round sharpening stone and a kunai, and the sounds of metal scraping permeate the air.

"We shouldn't tell anyone about this, should we?" she mutters as she brushes the tip of her kunai with her tongue, testing the sharpness. Utakata shakes his head.

"We want minimum bloodshed here. We need to find the intruder, determine whether they have accomplices, and eliminate them immediately." He stacks the pages, clips them together, and produces a marker, with which he goes through the list again. His one visible eye glows gold with intensity- Gaara has never truly seen the man at work, but somehow he knows he must be truly formidable.

Kisa tests her kunai again, and then tosses it to the wall in frustration. It bounces off with a clang.

"How can we find accomplices if we don't know what they're after? Who they're working for? This place is crawling with shinobi, it'd be like finding a needle in a haystack!"

Utakata glances up. "Gaara, you are the son of the late-Kazekage, are you not?"

Gaara nods.

Kisa looks at him as though she's forgotten this about him, as though she's contemplating whether she's been too fresh with, essentially, the prince of the village. Then she shrugs like she doesn't care.

"There's a good chance that this is political, then. The Kazekage dies; you eliminate the children, and, until a new guy arises..."

"...The council has power," Gaara finishes, so softly the others nearly miss it. He looks at Kisa first, then Utakata. "My sister wrote to me. She and my brother currently have joint-leadership, but…she said that, in his will...my father chose me."

Kisa jumps to her feet with a clash and clang of metal. "You're joking." she searches his face for a sign. "You're not joking."

He raises a brow.

"Damn!" she yells, throwing a shuriken into the wall. It sinks halfway into the plaster.

"Easy, Kisa," Utakata says, then looks to Gaara with a humorless smile. "Well, this certainly complicates things." he folds his chin into his hands. "Technically, since I'm a citizen if Kirigakure, it'd be irresponsible of me to directly involve myself in the political matters of another village."

"Plead ignorance if you're scared, Uta-chan," Kisa spits bitterly. "Because as far as I'm concerned, you're already in knee-deep in this shit, and it'll take a lot of washing to get the stink outta you."

Utakata's mouth quirks, but otherwise he doesn't seem moved. "I'm still helping, of course," he says calmly, and then adds, in a soft mutter, "I'll have to get Hotaru out of danger, though."

Kisa sneers. "You do that," she says, spinning a second shuriken on a finger, "While you're gone, I'll tend the flames of this whole fucking facility-!"

"Kisa!" Gaara says. She freezes. It's the first time he's referred to her aloud without the honorific, though he's been doing so in his head for a while now. It suggests a new aspect to their relationship- he isn't just a cute invalid kid anymore, and she's no longer his all-knowing sensei. "Control yourself. Let's think, okay?" He takes a deep, steadying breath. "Utakata, let's see the list. Before we take action, ask for a few days leave to get your wife out of here. Kisa-sama...you will stay with me?"

"Naturally," she finally says, and thankfully stops spinning that freshly sharpened shuriken.

"Good," he breathes. Without Kisa there, he isn't really sure how he can cope with the prospect of facing an assasin alone. Utakata rustles his papers impatiently. They are streaked with blue.

"Patterns," he announces proudly. "I'm not including vets, and I'm mostly overlooking anyone who started working here before this year. It narrows the list down drastically. Mizuki Kurozawa. Civilian. Came in six weeks ago. So far, she's only ever been serving in Gaara's sector. Chizuru Momoza, three weeks- a little too recent, but it won't hurt to look- and Yakumo Kurama. She's a pretty little thing- just over six months." He flips through the pages triumphantly. "I'll look into these three."

"You know," Kisa says suddenly, "There's a dojutsu called 'blood memory.' It'd be really convenient if we had someone with that ability, don't you think?" She throws Utakata a knowing look and places her hands on her hips.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Utakata growls, suddenly stiff.

She's juggling her knives now, tossing them like toys and snatching them back out of the air with practiced ease. "Stop being a dickhead, Uta. Hotaru can check out the body, and we all save time and effort."

"For goodness sake, Kisa!" He finally jumps to his feet, slapping the papers heavily onto the desk. "You sound pretty damn determined to put my wife in danger!"

Kisa grins, but this time it looks more like she's trying to grow fangs. "Maybe," she hisses. "Might teach you to grow a pair. Hotaru has more of a spine than you do."

"Blood memory?" Gaara asks.

Utakata's retort is sharp and automatic. "It doesn't matter."

Kisa's glare becomes lethal. "Blood memory is just as it sounds. A person with this ability can look through a person's memories by coming in contact with their blood, dry or wet. Nifty, huh? So we get Uta-chan's little sweetheart to take a little look-see at Kuronma's blood, and then there's no need to do all this detective work."

Gaara turns to Utakata. His nostrils dilate in cold fury. He looks like he very much wants to strike Kisa down. Kisa looks like she's daring him to try.

But this way makes sense. Any other method would be cumbersome.

"Utakata-?"

"Absolutely not," Utakata barks. "Kisa was Anbu. She's willing to sacrifice. I'm not."

Gaara presses his lips together. The solution is simple enough, but part of him wonders whether Utakata is open-minded enough to accept it.

"You want to leave to take your wife out of danger, is that right?" he says. Utakata nods, his eyes fixed on Kisa. One hand hovers over the katana at his hip.

"Then take the blood to her." Utakata's gaze finally shifts, settling gravely on Gaara. "Bring the memories back." Utakata stares emptily at him. His hold on his sword loosens.

"Gaara," he whispers, his voice hoarse. He corrects himself. "You did well on your missions, didn't you? Aside from the occasional discrepancies?"

"I suppose," he says plainly. "Missions were never difficult. I eliminated the enemy, gathered whatever Father told me to, and came back home." He blinks. "Why do you ask?"

Utakata sifts his hand through his hair. Below his left eye, ever hidden, is a jagged scar. "You think...very logically."

Gaara furrows his brow, as though deciding whether or not this is a compliment.

"I...I'll go along with your plan," Utakata concedes. His eyes fix back on Kisa, who grins smugly but somehow looks unsatisfied. "And because you are working around my weaknesses, I'll be the one to get the blood."

"Gracious Gaara, they'll be calling you," Kisa quips sourly. "I don't understand why he gets to do the fun part. Anything dangerous and reckless you need me to do, your majesty? My fingers have been itching like crazy since my last Anbu assignment."

Her sarcasm should bite, but he's thought of something that fits her request to a 't.' He pauses- he's been itching to ask this for a while.

"Kisa," he says, his mouth stretching out into a ghastly grin, "I do have something for you."

Her jeer drops slightly. "You do, now."

"Yes." His eyes flash. "Retrieve my gourd."

**

* * *

**

I posted soon mostly because I'm not in 3 with this chapter, and because I want to finish putting up this story. On that note, my bitching will proceed…

Please do not add this story to your Fave list without reviewing it. It's actually awfully disheartening (for me) when I only get 5/6 reviews and a bajillion fave alerts. It sends a message that "I kinda like this story but I won't take thirty seconds to tell you why." Admittedly, I do this too, but only for stories that A) already have a buttload of reviews or B) I talk to the author directly. Frankly, the last chapter was disappointing because I really loved it, and yet I didn't get much of a response. You don't have to write me a short essay or anything. (Also, don't review with "love it! Update soon!" because that tells me nothing.) Just tell me at least one thing you like about the chapter. Please? Pretty please? I don't mean to sound like a review whore—quality is much much much better than quantity imo—because I don't really think I am one. I like feedback, and so 7 meaty reviews are worth a lot more to me than 100 love-its! Besides, if you write too, you know how much reviews make you smile. Thanks!

A/N: Oh hellz to the no! He did not just ask that!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Another chapter that was originally meant to be two. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

It takes about half an hour to pick Kisa's jaw up from the ground, and another to attempt to convince his two suddenly terrified friends that giving him back his sand is a good idea. He reminds them that, even when he was out of his mind, he never attacked his allies, that with his cuffs on Shuukaku can't take control easily, that _honest to god_ he's not going to kill anyone with it.

"Look," he says, exasperated. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course we do," Kisa answers automatically. "Just not with your sand."

He scowls. Four years of repentance apparently isn't enough to remedy his bad reputation. He leans heavily into the desk. "A handful, then. You can do that much, right? I can't pulverize anyone with just a handful."

"I don't know," Utakata says, "It's expressly against the ru-!"

"We're planning to go against the council of Sunagakure, and you're still going on about rules?" Kisa snaps. "Look, I'm just worried about your control. You've come a long way, you've become a great shinobi even without your sand, but frankly, I still don't know if you're completely..."

"...Stable?" The wood gives under his hands. He lifts them, gives the desk a cursory look, and slaps the sawdust off on his pants. He catches Kisa and Utakata studying the imprints and smiles sheepishly.

"Okay," Kisa says begrudgingly, though she can't help but grin back. "Fine, kid. I'll get you some sand. Just tell us what you'll use it for."

"Surveillance," he explains. "It just requires a few grains. They stick to clothes. I could keep watch for suspicious behavior." He motions toward the list. "I could watch those three, for example.

Utakata doesn't look convinced. "I don't know. It still sounds-"

But his words die on his lips, and he has to look away because Gaara's frustration is quickly turning to pain. They are all stubbornly silent for a moment, and then Gaara speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I-I see," he whispers, "I suppose it's only fair, isn't it? I've killed so many people. My life must not be worth quite as much anymore..."

Kisa scoffs. "Shut up, Gaara. You know that isn't true." She shoots a venomous glare Utakata's way. "I'll go get your sand. Recon only, okay? They'll kill you if they catch you with that stuff."

Gaara nods somberly, and Kisa grunts in reply and immediately begins working out a release for her seal. It falls apart seamlessly, and she tosses the door open. Grabbing his wrist, she tugs Gaara out and into the hall.

For some reason, he can't help but feel as though he's found himself smack in the middle of a domestic dispute.

* * *

Utakata leaves the next day. He goes with a new necklace. The jewel is iridescent and red-black and contrasts well against his skin. The nurses clamor loudly over it.

Kisa, true to her word, slips into his room and gives him a present- a vase containing a small cactus. The sand gathers at the base.

It is both a great advantage and disadvantage of working and living here. People get complacent; they get comfortable, they begin to stop asking questions. Within the walls some shinobi grow stronger but most get soft. The Elders of the facility have demanded that, upon every meeting, two nin must greet each other with a henge release jutsu, but as the day progresses they begin to skip steps, by sunset their hands make a few useless flops and they go on their way.

It's shamefully easy for Gaara to plant a few grains on the nurses as they pass. Kisa promised one handful but brings two, and Gaara must truly fight to only touch what he needs for his job. What he wants to do is rip out the plant and break the pot and lave his hands in the stuff, but he hasn't been cooped up for so long to relapse quite yet.

The worst part about all of this is the waiting. Tomorrow, Utakata will be back, and Hinata and Temari will be close behind, but until then he has to sit in his room like a good madman and wait to be fed. Watching the nurses through his sand is interesting at first- he sees very little of other patients, it's a perk of being Suna royalty. But his view from sleeves and jacket hems is revealing. Behind the countless other doors are foreign diplomats who have gone missing, women gone mad pining after their dead lovers, former shinobi who became too enamored with death. The nurses smile, and the more docile patients smile back, but they are hollow, meaningless things- they don't travel up to their empty eyes. The aggressive patients they must approach with care. They have predator's eyes- they move like wolves trapped in cages, and once Gaara actually saw one attack. The nurse was shinobi and the patient had made a straightforward, mad rush; she dispatched him easily with some type of tranquilizer. It was a quick, efficient affair- she'd hoisted the man back into his bed, done the necessary tests, administered his medication, put down his food, smiled, and then left.

Nothing interesting happens. He sighs, switches his vision between subjects a few times, and then sighs heavily and slumps against his bed.

His door opens. Matsuri strolls in comfortably, hands stuffed into her pockets as deep as they will go. He's relieved. The silence was getting unbearable. He wonders how he ever endured it before.

"Hey," she says, then rapidly executes the henge release. He follows suit. Upon seeing that they are both themselves, she drops down to the floor with him.

He raises a brow. Matsuri isn't one to waste words. This is the first time she's ever began a conversation with a greeting- really, this is the first time she's initiated anything at all.

She moves her hair behind an ear. Her face is lightly powdered, and there's a bit of color and sheen on her lips. He can count on his hand the number of kunoichi he knows who use make up; he'd never thought he'd add Matsuri to that list.

"Aren't you going to say something?" she mutters. He's been staring.

His hand gently drifts to her face. She clamps her eyes shut suddenly, and as his fingers brush her face, he notices that it feels warm. He draws it away and rubs the powder between his fingers.

"It doesn't suit you," he finally says. Her eyes snap open, and her expression flashes from embarrassment to shame and back to nothing, because emotion doesn't suit Matsuri well either.

"I like it," she snaps.

"Okay," he says ineffectually. "That doesn't mean it suits you."

She gives him a dirty look, and then decides that it doesn't matter and changes the subject.

"So..." she asks, with the airs of someone who knows far more than they should, "What wonderfully diabolical thing are you guys leaving me out of this time?"

It's fortunate that Gaara too knows how to be stone. It makes lying much easier, and he tells Matsuri plainly that there is nothing going on, that in light of the intruder and his friend's death, they've decided not to train today.

She's young and inexperienced. Her Chuunin swirl is still clean on the shoulder of her vest. She believes him.

He hates lying, especially to someone like her, who has given up on doubting him and chosen to follow him wholeheartedly. But what must be done must be done, and maybe he's like Kisa and comfortable with making sacrifices.

* * *

The next morning, the sun hasn't even risen before Kisa slinks into his room and drags him out. A part of him is energized- Hinata will be back today-but so will his sister, and that meeting he dreads.

"Utakata's back," is Kisa's only explanation as they round a corner to a room, different from the one they used before. Her movements are harried, and she half-throws Gaara into the room before rapidly forming half a dozen seals.

Utakata lifts his cloaking jutsu and holds out a scroll.

The contents are straightforward, written by Hotaru herself as the visions came to her. The first line: "Subject pleads with woman, looks to be kunoichi. They part bitterly." His argument with Hinata, then. Next, Kuronma checks out of the facility, retrieves his larger weapons pack from the storage room, and heads out. He changes his mind, goes to finish his dinner. It's late by now, Gaara thinks. Kuronma heads for the exit. A woman is at the door.

"Black hair, hazel eyes, bright red lipstick. Subject doesn't recognize chakra, but does person. Says, confused, 'Kisa-sama?'"

Kisa slaps another seal furiously onto the door. "Those bastards- using my face!" Gaara is displeased to see her weapons pouch securely tied around her waist. She'll be tossing those soon, he thinks.

"Woman speaks, but voice is uncharacteristically male. Assumed to be an imperfect henge. Words unintelligible. Subject steps back. Henge shatters, reveals man wearing Sunagakure headband. General features unintelligible- appears to have light hair, possibly white, stands at about six inches taller than subject. Man darts forward, drives what seems to be a spear into subject's abdomen. Subject loses consciousness."

"So," Gaara murmurs, "Kuronma was murdered by one of Sunagakure's shinobi. That confirms it, doesn't it? This is the council's doing."

"He wore my face. I'll rip his off," Kisa snarls, but her eyes are sad. Hers was the last familiar face Kuronma saw before his death, and it wasn't hers enough for her to tell him goodbye. She finishes the last seal and finally slides down to the floor.

"Did you see anything interesting in your surveillance today?" Utakata asks Gaara. He shakes his head. "Kisa?"

Kisa shrugs. "I've been tracking the foreign chakra. I even brought out Mizuri the other day to try to sniff them out. Nothing." She sighs. "It's because we've publicly put ourselves on high alert. The intruder's being more diligent about cloaking himself."

"When does Hinata get back?" Utakata suddenly asks.

"This evening," Gaara answers automatically. Then..."Why?"

"The guy's using a cloaking technique, right?" He asks slowly, a mischievous grin sliding onto his face. "Hinata can see his chakra systems. She just needs to find the guy whose chakra systems are constantly active."

Kisa's dejection turns to hope. "You're right!" she gasps, jumping to her feet. "I should've thought of that," she adds.

Gaara closes his eyes. Don't be selfish, he tells himself. Kuronma's dead because they are going after you. If Hinata can fix anything, she should.

By the time he opens them again, Kisa is already halfway through undoing the seals. He stands up to leave.

* * *

Around seven in the evening, Hinata arrives. She looks rather bedraggled- her ponytail is fraying apart and her clothes are dusty, but otherwise she's healthy. Gaara doesn't see her arrival, but he feels it; it comes as a strange seizing in his gut. He waits fifteen minutes for Kisa to come and get him, but when she doesn't show, takes matters in his own hands. He pushes his door open and strolls purposefully to the Mess Hall, where he already hears the gleeful shouts of reunion.

Matsuri is waiting outside the door. She looks more pissed off than usual, which is rather strange because her idol is back; she ought to be celebrating. She tosses Gaara a look that seems to say "You too?" and stalks off.

The door swings open. Someone drags him forward through the small gathering, and then he sees them, sitting in the center, looking harried and overwhelmed- Hinata and his sister.

Temari looks up.

He can't move. He wants to run away but he can't even put one foot behind the other. It's as though he's a child again, alone in his room, grabbing a fistful of shirt in hope that he'll get a smile in return. Have Temari's eyes always been so savage?

"Gaara," she says, staggering to her feet.

He takes one step back, and that much is enough. He spins on his heel and flees.

Gaara slams the door shut behind him. It was only a few meters, but he's panting, his throat's burning...

...You'd think after four years he'd be ready. All of the set pieces were in place. He had friends. He had Hinata. But...

Blindly, he feels his way to his bed and buries his head in the sheets. I've changed, he tells himself. I'm a man now. I shouldn't be doing this.

She's gotten beautiful, he thinks. Not pretty- Hinata is pretty, and that intimates some sort of delicacy. Temari is anything but delicate. She's made of the same stuff he is- hard angles and sharp eyes, slim, chorded muscle and broad shoulders. She strikes an imposing figure-she looks like royalty. There's something in her posture that makes her look like she owns the world. And when she stood, he realized that she was still a few inches taller than him. Maybe it was that stupid revelation that gave his body the will to run. They're still, in many ways, at the same level.

Someone knocks on his door. He knows already that it's Hinata, but it still takes real effort to stand up and open the door.

She looks up at him, eyes wide, and he thinks she's about to cry. Hinata can see through him, of course she can. She always could. Underneath the stony facade, she can tell that he's breaking.

"Come here," she says, and he dives into her arms, crushes her to him. Her arms wind around his neck; her toes glide against the floor as he leads her to his bed.

"Hinata," he murmurs against her neck. He'd nearly forgotten how this feels, how touching her seems to set him aflame. "What should I do?"

She pulls back, holding his face securely in her hands. She smiles; he can see her eyes swimming.

"I'm sorry," she says, planting a kiss on his forehead. "I-I was impulsive. I should have asked you before. I knew you might not be ready, and I...I wanted this to work despite that."

"I thought I was ready." It's true. He was sure he was ready. He'd spent a night mentally preparing, formulating conversations in his head. He had wanted to piece his family together again- it's something Naruto can never have and he has never claimed. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. A part of him remembers that she's still in the Hall, surrounded but still alone. He starts to stand. "I should get back...I should apologize-!"

"Shh," Hinata murmurs, tightening her legs around him.

It's then that he notices the precarious position they're in. Her thighs press against his hips and her fingers thread through his hair, their chests only separated by thin, summer clothing, so easily torn away or removed... She notices too. She blushes and looks down, her lashes brushing her cheeks; her hands still.

"I...missed you," she says, as though to offer an explanation.

"Me too," he manages before her lips descend on his.

It's nothing like the first time. There's nothing tentative or gentle about this. Her movements are assured, hard- she dives into him completely. When her tongue tickles the roof of his mouth he pulls her closer and declares war, and then they're falling back, falling away, falling apart. She grabs at everything she can, his shirt, the sheets, his hair. Her hands slip under his shirt to trace his spine; he shudders and guides her beneath him. He's mostly experimenting, but he must be doing something right, because she's starting to shake too. He can feel her heartbeat against him; it thunders like an angry drum first through her body and then through his. His hands glide down her thighs, and she arches against him, trying to force herself into him.

When they break for air, she chokes out his name, and he thinks he's lost control.

His lips trail down her neck, becoming harsher as he gets closer and closer to the her clavicle. Her hands fist in his shirt as the kisses become nips, bites. Her hips roll up against his, he gasps aloud as a familiar heat rushes south. He freezes in his ministrations to look up at her sheepishly. They're both blushing at their own boldness.

"Ah, d-don't worry," she says in between pants, "I won't run away this time."

To prove it, she rolls her hips again. He catches them halfway.

"…Let's s-stop," he says warningly, though the look in his eyes and hitch in his voice suggest otherwise, "Now isn't the time."

She very nearly tells him that it doesn't matter, but then remembers that she has an audience waiting for her in the Mess Hall and sighs begrudgingly.

"Okay," she says between pants. "Okay." Slowly, he pulls away from her, wondering how, in hardly two minutes, they managed to get themselves so hopelessly entangled. She gives him a rather rueful look and sits up, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I-It's funny," she says, blushing so brightly that he's sure she's about to say something embarrassing, "I've always thought being honorable was a wonderful thing. But right now...I'm kind of annoyed."

He stares at her, aghast, and she laughs and holds out her hand. He grasps it in his. It's small, but calloused, the hands of a fighter. She looks at him with a warrior's eyes.

"Are you ready to try again?" she asks.

He nods. They go.

* * *

They walk back into the Mess Hall hand in hand. A few people smile knowingly, but most almost look appalled- the Hyuuga heir with the nightmare of Suna? It doesn't register well with them. He squirms and she squeezes his hand reassuringly. It's okay, she tells him with her smile, it doesn't matter.

Temari sits where they left her, leaning against the round table and sipping water from a wine glass. She looks up and grins almost sheepishly, as though she were the one to run like a child away from her problems. A lump forms in his throat.

"Ah," she says, just a little bitterly. "You're back."

"Yes," he says stiffly, and then folds into the chair next to her.

"Am I that scary?" He can't meet her eyes.

"Yes," he answers automatically, and then, "I mean no. You aren't scary. Not that scary."

And just like that, the tension eases. Temari grins widely, and then chokes back a laugh, and soon she's doubled over and laughing so hard that she upsets her glass. Gaara turns to Hinata, trying to figure out exactly what he's done wrong, but she's smiling like an idiot too. He feels like he's missed out on a really great joke.

"You," Temari manages between coughs, "I'd always thought you didn't talk because it made you look cool," she laughs again. "Turns out you're just really bad at it."

He colors. "You don't exactly have a way with words, either," he mutters.

"Must run in the family, then, hunh?" She says, and then her face softens and she opens up her arms. He looks at them, and she blushes a bit, looking for just one second like she's unsure of herself.

"Hinata said you liked hugs," she offers. He blinks; he can see himself, young, half-hanging out of a window, watching as his big sister tackled his big brother in a painful hold, wondering why she was smiling and he was red and they both looked so happy. He'd wanted to join in.

And now, finally, he could.

* * *

Within the next hour the mood makes a swift transition from warm to serious, because although Gaara has his sister back, there's still an assasin lurking in their midst. Hinata agrees to their plan, and the instant they leave the room she scourges the halls, Byakugan activated. Temari and Kisa hit it off immediately. Kisa is twelve years her senior and likes to behave like she's age-old and burgeoning with wisdom, but Temari doesn't take her bullshit easily, and perhaps this is what brings them together so seamlessly. They disappear into the training room shortly thereafter, and Gaara slinks back to his room and feels sated.

Someone's trying to kill him again, but, strangely enough, he's happy. He likes conspiring with Utakata and Kisa and breaking up their arguments. He likes watching Temari test out her new wind jutsu, seeing her weave through it the same way he does his sand. He likes the terrifying little flash that comes into Hinata's eyes when she activates her limit, the way she goes from sweet and endearing to intimidating in a split second.

He likes it all. For once, it doesn't matter that he's stuck in an asylum and treated like an inmate or that he can't use his sand the way he wants to. He wants things to stay like this for a while.

He closes his eyes and welcomes the sweet lull of content to take over his thoughts. It's nice, for once, to be able to clear his mind and think that all is well. He vaguely hears a nurse invite herself in, a covered bowl on her cart.

So when a senbon pierces his chest just to the left of his right shoulder, he understands his mistake. It's one of the first things shinobi learn.

_Never, ever, let down your guard._

* * *

**A/N: Extra long chapter. :P I debated back and forth between keeping these together or separating them. Thanks for all of the reviews—they make my day. :D**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Early chapter. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I used up all of my "creative disclaimer" steam on the one for chapter 19 of CQ. So I'll be boring here and just say "I don't own Naruto."

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

It hurts. He's used to Shuukaku messing with his body, but not to bleeding, and for him, seeing a wound is so much worse than feeling it. He keeps his eyes away from the senbon and tries to ignore the pain as he hoists himself off of his bed and to his feet. It's harder to stand than he thought- his legs feel like fast-melting butter and his head has started to swim. More than anything, he just wants to yank the blasted thing out, but he doesn't intend to bleed all over his carpet today.

"Ah," he manages, as he faces his attacker.

It's the red-headed nurse, but she seems different. She isn't grinning, she isn't fooling around- her green eyes are hard and the pupils wide.

"Good afternoon, Sabaku-san," she says, and then uncovers his dish.

Water rises out of the bowl and then falls to the floor. He's dealt with water-Utakata's teachings were based heavily on it-but this one doesn't respond to his chakra. An instant later, when a head emerges from the puddle, he sees why.

This must be the ninja Hotaru saw, he thinks. And this must be how he's been hiding. The woman isn't shinobi- her chakra is inactive for the most part- but this man is, and he has the perfect disguise. As his torso emerges, he flips long, blonde-white hair over his shoulder. There's a heavy-looking glass spear strapped to his back. Its tip is odd and asymmetrical, spiraling to a razor-sharp point.

"Nice seeing you again," he says casually. His voice is deep, almost guttural. "How're you feeling?"

Gaara narrows his eyes. He can feel Shuukaku stirring, feel him clamoring for blood. "You killed Kuronma," he hisses.

"I did," the man replies.

Gaara lunges forward; the woman turns toward the door and flees.

The man is bigger than he is, both in breadth and height, but he's damnably fast. He sweeps out of the way of Gaara's attacks easily, dodging the punches like they're being thrown by a genin. It's annoying, and with every movement the senbon sinks deeper into his flesh. But at least he's pushing the guy back.

He summons his shadow clones to find his vase behind him. _Just get out of this room,_ he thinks, _get out of this room and you can get help_. The council would have sent an Anbu-level shinobi, and without his sand he can't win alone. The clone swings the door open and Gaara pushes forward, trying to force his assailant out.

Without warning, the man swings his arm back and lands a powerful punch right against his jaw. It sends him through the air and into his window. The glass cracks, and he sits and pants for a moment, watching the blood blossom behind him and drip down to the sill. He rotates his jaw slowly, conscious enough to be glad that the hit didn't dislocate it.

"This is ridiculous," the man scoffs. "I won't even have to waste a drop of chakra on you."

His eyes flicker, and then he's gone, disappeared.

Of course, barely a second passes before he rematerializes again a few feet away.

Gaara forces himself out of the way and lands hard on the floor. The man pulls his fist out of the glass, lifting it to his lips and licking away the blood streaming from his knuckles. He's sneering; underestimating him.

In the Konoha ninjutsu handbook, there's a section about fire-breathing. He's perused it a few times, and practiced a few of the techniques with commendable results. He forms the handsigns just as his attacker hoists his spear onto his shoulders. The flames rise high; just as they're about to engulf him the man swears and falls to a puddle on the ground, slithering out of the way. It buys Gaara enough time to find his vase and smash it to the ground.

There's not much sand, much less than he thought and far less than he needs. But it'll do for armor. He calls it to him and briefly relishes in how right it feels as it scurries over his skin. It tightens, hardens, becomes a second skin, and for a moment Shuukaku stirs, responding to his element as well.

"That's contraband, Sabaku-san," the shinobi says as he emerges from his water.

Gaara does not respond, just smiles, because he's never been one to follow rules.

* * *

Matsuri is walking the halls again. Hinata is back. She'd thought she'd be happy to see her- the Konoha kunoichi is always quick to spare a smile or gift for her, and honestly, she sees her as a sort of model for the person she will someday be.

But lately Gaara's been confusing things. Matsuri is not accostumed to emotion; it doesn't become her (or so she's been told.) She doesn't seem sweet when she blushes or pretty when she cries, but she's been doing too much of both lately, all because Gaara had to smile at her like that. It isn't fair, she thinks- normally she doesn't like him, but there are moments when she wants to _be_ Hinata and not merely emulate her, times when she wants to be able to claim Gaara as _hers_ and only hers.

She's close to Gaara's door when she feels it- an unimaginable spike in chakra. Her throat tightens. It isn't his, at least not all of it. She thinks of Kisa-sama's odd, guarded behavior as of late, of Kuronma's murder, and the new release procedures, and suddenly everything makes sense. Her hand darts to her hip, feeling blindly for her weapon's pouch. Her heart leaps; she's scared, terrified, really, but someone is hurting Gaara and if the only way she can really make a part of him hers is to help him, she can take the risk.

Besides, she thinks as she races inside, fear has never suited her either.

* * *

The shinobi decides that Gaara suddenly is worth expending some chakra and summons a gust of wind. His spear spins in the air before landing in his waiting hand. He's very proficient with it, using it more as a sword than a spear, and Gaara, who has nothing to parry it with, is forced to duck and dodge awkwardly.

"Who are you?" Gaara hisses as the spear sweeps past where, a few moments before, his head had been.

The shinobi sneers and lunges again, except the end of his weapon is glowing with fire now. Gaara spins it back with his own flame. The man's backing him into the wall, he realizes, he's got to get to his other side, or he'll be done for.

"It's unfortunate that we have so little room," the man says, "I can't use all my fancy stuff."

"Neither can I," Gaara hisses, thinking that, outside, there's endless sand.

The spear impales the plaster just to the right of his neck. "Just sit still," the shinobi growls, and that's when they both hear footsteps approaching.

The man reacts quickly, and Gaara sees that the person flying back into the hall is Matsuri, and hears the unpleasant thud as her body smacks against the wall. That half second distraction is enough for the shinobi, and he lands a hit on Gaara's abdomen that should have pierced and killed him. His armor protects him from the worst of the damage, but he still feels the force and it all but knocks the wind out of him. The shock shakes him and the senbon digs deeper, and across the room Matsuri groans in pain.

Shuukaku is wide awake now. He can hear him roaring within him. _About time. _With Shuukaku active, he becomes hypersensitive to his surroundings, and suddenly becomes painfully aware of the fact that all of this time, _all of these years, _there's been sand all around him. They are in the middle of Suna, after all. Past the thin plaster and paint coating, the walls, at their heart, are made of sandstone. With just the right amount of chakra…

"We could move to a more...suitable venue," Gaara chokes. He can feel the senbon pushing out of his chest as Shuukaku heals him, feels a subtle addition to his chakra flow. Shuukaku's learned his lessons- too much and the shackles activate, but too little and they'll put him to sleep.

"Are you out of your mind?" the man barks, his confidence wavering for a split second and then returning with obnoxious exuberance, "Do you think I'm stupid?"

The pain's melting away quickly. Gaara grins. "Hoping," he manages, and in what feels like and probably is a split second, he yanks the sandstone from the wall, crumbles it down to particles, forms it into a knife, and stabs the man in the stomach.

He dissipates into mist and smoke. Gaara curses aloud, then races to the door. Matsuri is no longer lying down, rather, she has the red-haired woman pinned to the floor. Her eyes have rolled to the back of her head; she must have her in a genjutsu.

"Get out of here," he manages to rasp just as the man rematerializes in between them.

"She isn't my target," the man says. "And you aren't going to collapse this entire facility for your use, are you?" His voice is edged with fear.

"Get out of here, Matsuri," Gaara repeats. Grains of sand are pushing past the paint and pooling around his feet.

"No," Matsuri says stolidly, "I'm not leaving you!" She jumps into a stance. "I'll stay by your side this time!"

The shinobi smirks. Wind swirls around them again. The sand locks Gaara tightly to the ground, but Matsuri has no footing and flies up to the sealing. Her back slams into a sprinkler spigot; she cries aloud and drops heavily back down. It takes effort to dodge another strike and catch Matsuri at once, but not as much as he expected, not even close. But his sand is gritty and there's only so much he can do to make it soften the blow. She falls back and moans aloud, her small fingers digging to find purchase in the sand before they go limp.

But her sacrifice is not in vain.

The sprinklers go off and the fire alarm sounds, loud and grating and possibly the most gratifying sound in the world to Gaara, because it means help is coming.

The shinobi quickly uses the water to his advantage, summoning and shaping it into tiny pellets that rain down on him like bullets. Gaara's shield whips up to protect him, he sweeps forward, licks away the blood that's trailed from his head to the corner of his mouth, and knocks away his spear. It lands in the grasp of his sand- he instantly crushes it. It joins his quickly mounting collection.

The shinobi no longer looks so at ease, what with the alarms blasting all around him and his favorite weapon reduced to dust and turned against him. Footsteps are rushing toward them from both sides of the hall. His eyes flash- they're blue as the sky and deceptively tender- and then he runs back into the room. Gaara is fast on his heels, but it's too late, the man is gone, nothing more than mist sieving through the cracks in the window.

He hears a gasp of surprise when his backup arrives, a few seconds too late, and finds Matsuri lying there, barely conscious. Hinata is the first to sweep into the room, and Temari is hot on her trail. They take in the destruction- the broken, bloody glass, objects tossed and strewn by the wind, a bloody senbon on the floor, gaping holes like sores in the walls. And Gaara, his shirt front striped in blood, the back of his neck and forehead stained with it. It creeps sinisterly down his tattoo. His sand lies in a pile around his feet, and though he's silent, they feel like he's screaming his frustration.

"G-Gaara," Hinata murmurs. She sounds afraid. He isn't sure whether it's for him or of him.

"He got away." A gentle breeze tickles his skin, a soft mockery of the winds the room had seen merely a few moments before.

"You're bleeding." She turns him to face her with the palm of one hand, flat against his shoulder. It glows green for a moment, and she furrows her brow in confusion. "You're healed already?"

"You've studied Jinchuruki," is his reply. Her fist closes on his shoulder, he feels the weight when she rests her head against him. Behind them, Temari is scouting, outside, two of the shinobi are working to patch Matsuri up, the last examines the red-haired nurse, who is in worse shape than Matsuri because she's been mentally frazzled as well.

"Gaara." Her voice is stern. He's reminded of the first time he saw her, the way his entire being had felt compelled to obey her. "What happened?"

He closes his eyes. "He is a shinobi of Sunakagure," he says slowly. "But it appears he's proficient with most of the elements. He's been hiding as water, or mist. He escaped through this window when he heard you coming."

One of the backups, who was listening against the doorframe, shoves his way inside. "Convenient, isn't it?"

They turn to look at him. He is older than they are, though they can not tell by how much, and new to the facility. Gaara hates him on the spot.

"What do you mean?" Temari snaps.

"Well," the man continues, his hard gaze locked on Gaara, "we have two facility workers injured, this one's room is a wreck, he's covered in somebody else's blood, and there's sand everywhere. It's just so convenient that a slippery shinobi happened to have caused the ruckus, don't you think?"

_Kill him,_ Shuukaku shrieks. For once, Gaara wants to agree.

But Temari gets there first. She lunges for the man, knocking him to the floor, and punches him cleanly in the jaw.

"You asshole!" she screams. "How dare you? We get a clue this big and you dare to insinuate that my brother_, who could have been killed by an S-rank_, did this?"

The man spatters, enraged. "You're mad if you listen to him just like that! And you!" He points to Hinata. "Touching him...making advances at a monster!"

It's been a long time since anybody's called him that, but it still makes his throat tighten up like a vice. Hinata must feel it, because suddenly she's yanked his face toward her and leaning up. Her lips mash against his, hard, and then she let's go and marches up to the man, who now has two kunai crossed at his neck. Temari's eyes hold no mercy.

"This mission requires 100% confidence in _all _involved," Hinata says in that deceptively gentle voice that shows she means business. "I think we should hold you somewhere until the shinobi has been captured, to ensure that you aren't supporting this. I hope you understand." A sly smile slides onto her face. "It may or may not be pleasant."

The man opens his mouth to protest, but Hinata has already rendered his body useless. He's left lying back, mouth hanging open, eyes roving with panic.

"I'll take out the trash," Temari offers, swinging him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She marches out in a sinisterly good mood.

Hinata returns to Gaara. He's thinking, thinking hard for a solution where none seems to be. "We need to find him," is all he says, "And I need to fight him."

"You sent him back," Hinata observes aloud, "He can't be anything you can't handle."

"He was holding back," Gaara sighs. "There wasn't enough room to actually use a really destructive jutsu. Outside, I have a world of sand at my disposal. We both have more options." He stiffens- something wet and cool has drifted past his shoulder through the window, and today it's completely arid. "He's waiting," he mutters. He turns to leave; she grabs his arm.

"I'm coming with you," she asserts.

"You are not," is his curt reply. Her face colors.

She steps forward. "I will."

He gives her a withering look. "You'll get hurt." He doesn't want to see that happen. She interprets his concern as something else and her eyes darken.

"Don't be proud, Gaara! You're going to need me there!" This goes beyond obstinance- old wounds are reopening and she's trying her hardest to quench them. He remembers that expression, those eyes, begging for recognition. It's like she's a little genin again, facing her cousin in an arena and being told exactly how incompetent she is.

"I won't," he says, and before she can stop him, his thin veil of sand wraps around him and he's gone, leaving nothing but settling dust in his wake.

He only feels a bit guilty when he hears her scream aloud in frustration.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not good at fight scenes, but I am working on it. :P For me, emotions/dialogue are easier to portray than dynamics. So tell me what you think of part one of the showdown! We're getting close to the end of _Bound, _but I think I want to start a fun tradition with my fics.

It's called : ASK THE READER! You guys always have fun questions for me that I can't answer without spoiling stuff. So I'll ask you questions! Just choose one. They'll all be about how I can make my fics better—be it about format, feedback, anything!

Chapter Titles- Interesting, Unnecessary, or Meh? (If this is conditional- what makes them good?)

If you have a question that you ask through a review, should I treat it as rhetorical and just make you wait for the next chapter, answer it within the chapter, or PM you?

Do you like being acknowledged as a reviewer in the next chapters? (lists of reviewers)

Would you rather have longer chapters with longer wait times, or shorter chapters with shorter wait times?

Thanks for reading and/or answering! I'd prefer "and!" Like, really! :D :D


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Next chapter. It's almost over, guys!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own. Kthnxbai. :D

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

The sun hits him like a battering ram. He's forgotten the true meaning of heat, and quickly thickens his armor- a sunburn should be the least of his worries, but his skin is likely very sensitive now and he doesn't particularly want to test it.

He wishes that his first trip outside the asylum walls could have come under different circumstances. Then maybe he could have marveled at the patches of green in the garden, the solidity of the cracked earth beneath his feet, the taste of air that hasn't been channeled and pumped through vents. Instead, he's setting his sand out to search for moisture, because out here, where there's water there'll also be his target.

It's slow work, however, and Gaara starts to wonder whether he's escaped. Outside, there's so much open space, and Gaara isn't sure how long he can search before he becomes suspect back in the facility. He turns back.

The ground lurches up behind him- with so much at his disposal, it moves involuntarily again. The first layer of his shield melts off as mud.

"I thought you ran," Gaara says. The man smirks widely.

"You've been cooped up in that hole for far too long," he says, "Otherwise, you would know. Arashi of Sunakagure never runs."

He forms hand signs so quickly that his hands seem to blur, and the sky darkens. A low rumble breaks the afternoon silence, Gaara glances up and sees clouds, thick, black ones, of the kind that are never seen in Suna roll in with terrifying speed. He wastes no time- he knows he has little left- in softening the sand around the man's feet and locking him in place. The sand scrambles up his legs, but he's smirking, grinning like an idiot, and Gaara realizes that his efforts came just a second too late.

It begins to rain. At first, it's innocent, it falls like rain should, down, into the earth, splashing gently against the hard ground with soft taps. Gaara can't help but watch it in wonder; even when he was free rain had been a luxury, and now as it is nearly otherworldly. It soaks into the confines on Arashi's legs, and he breaks himself free effortlessly, utilizing his element. Gaara grits his teeth. His sand is getting wet, and therefore heavy. He tries to pry it away, but the man is countering his control, forcing the water to cling and weigh him down.

Then the water becomes ice, thousands of needle sharp splinters that shower down and sink into his now slower shield. He runs, slides across his sand to avoid the worst of it, but for the most part the rain has stilled and the ice needles have become something of honing missiles, following him relentlessly as he speeds away from them. Distantly, he hears the man's laugh, a penetrating, booming sound not unlike the thunder he summons right afterward.

Lightening flickers all around him; he's momentarily blinded by it, has only the chance to think that this isn't right, lightening is supposed to come first, before his sand closes into a sphere just miliseconds before he's fried. He feels the energy course all around him, and for the first time he wonders whether he can actually do this, can actually beat this man who seems to have all of the forces of nature at his disposal.

His little dark space suddenly becomes charged, and so he dispels his shield, only to find that it's mostly glass now. It shatters on the ground and is instantly devoured by the rest of the sand, which crushes it down to particles. His eyes flicker up; Arashi has a new spear now, he can see the point just under his chin, his sand is too slow, it's only up to his chest, he's going to die, just like that, on these hated grounds he's going to finally die...

But he doesn't. A second passes and he's still alive, and that's when he sees the kunai jutting out of his attacker's abdomen.

Hinata swirls into view. Her Byakugan is activated, her teeth bared. She looks like an animal; she looks amazing. She rushes forward, covers fifteen meters before Arashi can hit the ground, and slams the kunai further in with the flat of her palm. Her movements are smooth and measured; her hands are coated in red—his blood? The force keeps the much heavier enemy from keeling over; he's forced to stand and take the beating like an old punching bag.

Gaara can see now, however, what she'd meant when she'd described herself as unsuited for the field. She's fast, true, and lithe, and if her skills are toned potentially deadly. But she's furious and clouded by her anger, or something like it, he thinks. Although her Byakugan is on, she keeps her eyes clasped shut, her brows are furrowed, her lips sucked in, like she's scared to hurt him. Half of the strikes successfully hit, following paths her hands have long ago memorized. The others are off mark. Still, she's relentless, by now he should be immobile, any normal shinobi would be dead by now-

One arm jerks up and catches Hinata around the wrist. She gasps, and suddenly she's being thrown into the air, so high that she nearly disappears from view, tossed like an unwanted rag doll.

Inside him, Shuukaku roars. The reverberations shake the earth. He isn't sure who acts next, he or the monster, just that his sand's doing two things at once and he doesn't remember initiating either.

A mountain of sand shapes itself into a hand and plucks Hinata out of the air. It sinks back with a satisfied crunch, and inside Hinata is shaking, tears are streaming down her face, but then she realizes she's actually still alive and the fear turns to resolve.

At the same time, the earth lurches up around Arashi, and for once, it's too fast for him. It encloses him tightly and suddenly, and his only reaction is the horror on his face as it crawls up his neck and begins to harden. Gaara's arm is raised; it's a familiar stance, a natural one for him, but terrifying all the same. Hinata's gentle fist has done its work- Arashi of Suna is coughing up blood profusely and Gaara really just wants to finish the job. All he has to do is squeeze, clench, and it'll all be over and he'll be fed, satiated. Red looks so nice streaming over his sand, he thinks, and he hasn't eaten properly in years...

"...Don't!" Hinata cries. Gaara whips around to face her; his eyes widen and he wonders what he was about to do, what he could've done. Shuukaku chuckles triumphantly and thinks that, small as this battle is, it's won it. Gaara agrees.

"I-!" Gaara starts. His hold loosens and the shinobi's head bobs forward.

"Hold him!" She shouts harshly. He hastens to comply. Quickly, she forms a clone, giving it quick instructions to go find Temari and Kisa, and then she turns back to their prisoner.

"Gaara, help?" she says when she realizes that she's a good six inches too short to be intimidating. A sand platform rises up under her feet, putting her at eye-level with the intruder.

"Who do you work for?" she says calmly.

The man rears back and spits a mixture of phlegm and blood half a meter from Hinata's foot. She frowns, and then gently places her forefinger and thumb at his temple. "Please tell me. I don't w-want to go to drastic measures."

"I die regardless," Arashi growls, his eyes flashing scornfully.

"Perhaps," she says softly, "Or perhaps, if you tell us what we want, we'll let you live."

"I'm working for myself," Arashi says with a sneer. "The monster had to die sometime."

Hinata smiles ruefully, like a mother catching a naughty child in a lie, and presses down with her fingers.

Arashi screams. It's blood-curdling, especially coming with someone with his capabilities, his strength. A moment before, he'd been laughing in the face of pain—it's hard to imagine what he's feeling now. Gaara flinches.

"I can kill you at a moment's notice," Hinata continues when he finally stops, his breath ragged. "Please tell us the truth."

The clone returns, Temari and Kisa close behind. It disappears in a puff of smoke, and through the haze Kisa and Temari are smirking like hyenas over a fresh kill. Temari saunters up, looks from Gaara's still raised arm to Hinata's fingers pressed against the man's head, and frowns.

"Kill him already," she says ruthlessly. "There's no need for questioning. Attempting to murder the Kazekage is punishable by death."

"In due time," Kisa objects. "I'm a little interested myself. Tell me, you little prick, who hired you?"

Before the man can protest, Hinata presses down again and he's lost to the world for a moment. The instant he catches his breath, he spits again, this time hitting his target. Kisa sputters and wipes her face with her sleeves, and when she looks up again, all traces of mercy are gone.

"Okay then," she says, "New deal. You tell us, we send a little jolt to your brain, you die quick and nice and easy. You keep this appalling behavior up, and we get Kazekage-sama here to crush you, so slowly your ancestors'll feel it."

"Three harpies," Arashi chokes, "Three disgusting demons from hell who'll let your entire village go to waste to follow your devil. Let me die. I don't want to live in an era with you disgusting m-" Hinata doesn't let him finish his sentence. He stiffens and opens his mouth soundlessly, too tired to even scream, "I-I...kill me, then." He hangs his head with a deep sense of finality. They all know a lost cause when they see one.

"The honors, Gaara," Temari says coldly. Gaara opens up his hand. His joints crack as he stretches out his fingers, then begins to bring them together again. Shuukaku is pleased ('It's been too long,' it says hungrily.) He feels the sand tighten around the man, the popping of bones breaking, feels the piercing, pleading gaze locked on him.

Arashi's eyes are so blue, blue like the sky, wide like a child's.

His grip loosens. A crumpled mess of blood, sand, and shinobi slides out onto the ground. Without skipping a beat, Kisa draws a kunai and slits his throat. He grunts, gags, and then dies.

"What the hell was that?" Kisa shouts. She wipes her knife with an easy swipe on the man's trousers.

Gaara shakes his head. His hands tremble at his sides. He couldn't do it. Despite all that was at stake, he didn't have the _gall _to do it. Killing him would have felt like betrayal. Relapse.

"You are shinobi, are you not?" Kisa is saying.

It's an easy question that, an hour ago, he'd have answered instantly. But now he understands what it entails. Being shinobi is no profession. It's a way of life that he has to accept wholly. He has to kill again.

"Leave him be," Temari's voice cuts in. "He's been through a lot today. The guy's dead already. Just get the blood and call it a day."

Kisa grunts in annoyance, but obediently sweeps a vial from around her neck and kneels down to comply. Gaara turns away; the sight of her squeezing his neck and the blood seeping out like juice from a ripe fruit is sickening. How did he cope with it before- the sight of battered, half pulverized corpses, macabre puppets that once had souls? He thinks he'll be sick.

_'You didn't,_' Shuukaku supplies. _'Sabaku no Gaara leaves no bodies behind. They become a part of you, just like I am.'_

"Don't," he whispers aloud. Hinata turns to him. He can't see her, but he feels her concern. He doesn't want it. He wants to be alone.

His sand rushes up around him, and he's gone.

* * *

Gaara walks around the facility listlessly. The halls are quiet; the patients and civilians have probably been put under lockdown. At first, he heads for his room, but three steps in the right direction and he remembers that half of that wing has been demolished and he turns back. The mess hall is locked, Kisa's seals are plastered haphazardly across the training room and gym doors, and he suddenly realizes that he's got nowhere to go.

He sinks down to the floor. He shouldn't have left Hinata like that, a small voice tells him. She'll worry, and he doesn't want that. Temari, too.

They are shinobi. He's always known that Hinata was not the sweet-tempered, harmless girl so many supposed her to be, but he did consider her a gentle soul. And yet the same hands that sieved lovingly through his hair could be used for horrible destruction. She has no qualms about killing, torturing even-Arashi's screams echo through his mind-and her voice, soft, motherly, and letting loose such terrible threats, had been eye-opening. She could kill, just as he once could. But she was no monster, anything but. Just a woman strong enough to protect her village and loved ones with whatever it took.

Could he do it? Could he lose to Shuukaku for the sake of his village? Break down what he'd worked so hard to build up over these years? If he killed again, would he go back to the way he was, existing only to satiate himself- could he detach his mission from that sick, inescapable fulfillment he felt when his sand took in another meal?

_Maybe I can't,_ he thinks. _Maybe it's too much to ask for. A person like me is forever damned._

"Gaara-san?"

He looks up. Matsuri looks down at him curiously, head tilted to one side. He hadn't sensed her at all. She drops down to sit next to him, arms crossed. Strips of white peek out from under her shirt-bandages.

"They've healed you?" Gaara murmurs offhandedly.

"Yeah, for the most part." She shrugs. "It wasn't that bad. Mostly just shock, you know?"

"Yea." Does she see the way he's struggling to hold back tears? The way he's about cave in on himself?

She turns to him. Her hair swishes to one side, and he can smell old hospital smells, blood and disinfectant and bleach. "Hey. Are you okay?"

He thinks of lying again. She'd buy it without hesitation. Instead, he grins. "No."

"You beat that bastard, though, right?" Her eyes narrow as they scan over the diluted blood on his hospital gown. Arashi's rain has washed most of it away. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"I'm fine."

"You aren't."

There's no use denying such an obvious truth.

"It isn't anything you'd understand."

She glares at him. _Ah_, he thinks, _there's a face that looks good on you._

"Try me."

He stands, brushes off his pants, even though there's no point; his hands are dirty too. "I won't." _I'll sit and angst elsewhere, then_.

"You said that we were friends again!"

Gaara turns. Matsuri is on her feet too. She's easily a foot shorter than he is (Temari would easily dwarf her)- at fourteen, she's still a child, despite the strength of her genjutsu.

"We are."

"Friends confide in each other. Trust each other. You don't tell me anything. You treat me like...like a kid!"

He shrugs. "You are a kid."

"I am shinobi!" she says harshly. "My childhood ended the moment I set foot in the Academy."

His mouth quirks slightly in response, but he doesn't sit.

"You don't take me seriously at all!" Matsuri cries out. She stomps a foot in frustration, and he notes how ironic it is that she's throwing tantrums to prove that she's an adult. "You're being selfish and stupid," she finally says. "And a coward."

This catches his attention. "Selfish? Is my trying not to burden you with my own worries _selfish_?"

"Yes, it is!" she says indignantly. "It's selfish for you to assume that I don't want to be burdened. I'll decide that on my own."

It's as though she's transformed before his eyes. Quiet Matsuri, young, terse, foolish Matsuri, is shouting at him and making sense. He changes his mind- maybe emotion does suit her. Maybe it's the fact that there's passion in her brown eyes for once.

"Fine," he says softly. "Sit down."

* * *

Three hours later, Hinata finds him. He is in the corridor, slumped against a wall. Matsuri has fallen against his shoulder, her brown hair sweeping over her face. Her cheeks are streaked in dried tears, and Gaara's eyes look more bruised than usual. Part of her is jealous- they've shared something precious, something she may never get to touch. But a part of her is glad, because now Matsuri can have a part of the man she loves to herself to cherish, just the same way she still clings to memories with Naruto.

She considers moving them to the infirmary, but they look too peaceful and she can't bear to wake them. Instead, she sweeps into a neighboring room and filches a blanket.

As she drapes it around them, she thinks she can see Gaara smiling. 

* * *

**A/N: **End fight and thus, main conflict. It'll be over soon.

Btw. I have an epilogue written for this. Is it a better idea to post it by itself or append it to the end? The epilogue is much more Hyuuga-centric, and it works both ways, I guess, but…. :D

Remember to review- if the chapter was "great," tell me why! I WILL BADGER YOU UNTIL I GET AN ANSWER! O_O Thanks, loves!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Super Short Chapter. See A/N below for explanations.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own. Kthnxbai. :D

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

We're gonna miss you, kid," Kisa says somberly. She's dressed in a simple yukata today and her hair is down, falling down her back in a straight, black sheet. Without her gear she looks strangely benign. Standing next to her is Utakata, who is similarly dressed and is wearing the same face he did at Kuronma's funeral. They almost look a couple, although Utakata's wife is standing only a few feet away.

"Kisa. Utakata," is all Gaara can say, because they're two of his first true friends, and he'd never imagined saying good-bye would be so difficult.

Kisa's mouth quirks and she dives in to hug him. "You're a good kid. And, though it sounds sick, I'm glad everything happened the way it did."

"Me too," Utakata says. Gaara prepares to bow, but the older man grabs him securely by the shoulders and pulls him into an embrace as well. "You've had enough bad luck to last most people five lifetimes. That means the rest of your life should be filled with good fortune."

Gaara smiles grimly and thinks that the last year has given him more than enough. After all, he's alive, he has Hinata, he has his sister, he is soon to have his brother—already, so much more than he could have dreamed of.

The courtyard is filled with the facility's workers, bustling and chatting and sipping watered-down wine. It's the Festival of Flowers today, but the real celebration is at the capital. They can't leave, so instead they celebrate the arrival of Suna's first rains with a modest party. It's ironic, because despite the light drizzle the night before today the skies are clear and the sun is beaming, but for once it isn't unbearably hot.

The celebration takes place out on the front yard. On one side, a rather large old man gleefully blows fire onto a grill and cackles as the meat crackles in response, and rather dangerously close to him, a nurse braids flowers into Matsuri's hair. One of the earth elementals has built a beautiful gazebo from the clay in the earth, and the few young men who work at the asylum use it to flirt with a few kunoichi. It's an idyllic scene on an idyllic day, the kind he'd thought he'd never come to appreciate.

He's leaving today.

"Gaara-kun!" Matsuri says. It comes out as a squeak, and his smile brightens in spite of himself. Something is different about her these days. She's brighter, more like the child she should be than the steely shinobi she was. Is this a good thing? Has she become soft?

She smiles and runs to him. The desert lilies in her hair are violet. They match the ones in Hinata's. "Before you go...I...erm...I want you to know something."

He raises a brow; Kisa smirks knowingly. Matsuri suddenly looks at her feet, then her hands. Her face is bright pink.

"I...I... The way I feel about..."

He interrupts. "Matsuri." Her eyes snap up. "I need a few trusted shinobi with some medical expertise back at the capital. Hinata and a few of Konoha's med-nin will be training them within the year." Gaara looks down at her carefully. "Would you like to be one of them?"

Something dies in her eyes for a minute, but she quickly recovers. "Y-yes!"

He nods. "Good." He turns; Temari is leaning against the gazebo and looking bored, and Hinata is hugging every nurse in sight, silent tears streaming down her face as she laughs with them for what is likely the last time.

"C'mon," Temari drawls, studying her fingernails. She turns to the setting sun, the handle of her fan outlined in orange. "We've got a council to publicly disgrace."

Hinata turns to him, smiles, and holds out her hand.

"Let's go," she says, pushing her hair behind an ear.

He smiles and takes it. "Yes. Let's." _Together. _

Despite everything, despite all of the pain it's brought him in the past, he allows himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe hope really does exist.

* * *

**A/N: **The (unofficial) end of BOUND! I'm posting the epilogue after this, simply because this is such a painfully short chapter. I would expand on it, but I wrote this six months ago and so my creative juices are all but gone.

NOTE ON THE LAST CHAPTER:

It seems I caused some confusion in the last chapter, so here I will qualify.

In this fic, Matsuri has no chance, romantically, with Gaara. She never has. From the beginning, she's been the steely little kunoichi who Gaara initially sees as a kid (In this, she's 14. I'm not saying being 14 makes you a kid, but I'm pretty sure that, unless you're incredibly mature and developed, 18-year old guys with their heads screwed on all the way won't be going for you. Just sayin'), and later as a little sister. The whole point of the ending in the last chapter was to reestablish their _friendship_. He talked to Matsuri about his problems because she caught him while he was trying to escape from them and convinced him to let loose. He didn't run to her. They fell asleep from exhaustion, not curled into each other's arms.

That part was also to signal a definite change in Matsuri's character, from the emotionless, martinet ninja to the passionate, youthful girl—I'm basically transitioning her from who she is in this fic to a more mature, bearable version of who she is in the anime.

On that note, there's really no reason for Hinata to be jealous or upset. She's too confident about the strength of their relationship. She knows about Matsuri's feelings, naturally, but isn't threatened by them in the slightest, because she knows that sometimes, the best confidants are the friends who aren't completely immersed in the situation discussed. She's just happy for both of them, because Matsuri's found memories with her first crush and Gaara's strengthened another bond. :P So don't be saddened by the end of the chapter, and don't worry, this was never intended to end with GaaraxMatsuri.

I thought their characterizations by this point should have made these things evident, but I'm really sorry they didn't. I'll work harder next time.

Also, because this is so dreadfully short, I'm uploading the epilogue as well. :D


	14. Epilogue

**A/N: **Last installment!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own! :P

* * *

**Epilogue**

**

* * *

**

_**Three years later  
**_  
They stand together at the Konoha gates, breathing the smell of rain and ash that is ubiquitous in the Village Hidden in the Leaves. His robes flap in the breeze, as do the sleeves of her kimono. The jounin who escorts them is polite but capable, and he waits silently in front of them. They aren't ready to move forward. Not yet.

He is about to face the Hokage. She, her father. Both prospects are quite daunting, but Gaara knows that underneath that brash, buxom exterior, Tsunade-sama really can be a softie, while Hyuuga Hiashi is ice through and through. He will be asking for her citizenship, which Tsunade will likely give— but she's asking for so much more. She's asking to break thousands of years of tradition to be by his side. She's relinquishing her birthright, and, in the process, her clan. She's giving up—giving away— a piece of her identity. For him. Hinata is always doing so much for him.

She's pale as death at the thought of what is to come, but she holds her head high and puts all of her stress into her grip on his hand. She's squeezing the life out of his fingers, but he endures the discomfort.

"You'll be alright," he says. His expression is blank, but his eyes say it all— he loves her, he'd be there by her side if he could, but he trusts she'll be able to pull through. She always does, never smoothly, but in the end the job is always done.

Hinata exhales. "I know."

"Are you ready, Kazekage-sama?" The jounin asks. Gaara turns to him and nods, and then back to her. "Hinata."

She gives him a smile that half breaks his heart. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

They regard each other coolly for a moment, but Gaara's escort looks away bashfully, because there's so much in their gazes that he doesn't feel he should be privy to. Gaara looks away first, nods to the jounin again, and they disappear in a flurry of sand and leaves and upset dust. Hinata waits until it has settled, inhales deeply, and then moves.

* * *

The elders' eyes are like fire and ice, cold, burning embers. She keeps her eyes unwaveringly forward, focusing on the most intense flame of them all, her father. In her ornamental kimono, made by Suna's hands and embellished with Suna's symbols and colors, she stands out in this sea of black and white. Amongst them is her cousin. His fists are curled at his sides, and although he's perfected his mask, she can see the emotion bubbling beneath it. She wants to spare him a loving glance, a smile of sorts to reassure him, but she can't, not here, not where it could be interpreted as weakness.

"The Kazekage has asked for my hand," she says, disciplining her voice so that it carries, locking all of her tremors deep into her chest. "And I intend to accept."

(It isn't a romantic proposal. He is sitting behind his desk and she in front, and in between debating sending more men to a known criminal hotspot and reviewing a revised treaty with Konoha, he asks her to marry him.)

It isn't news to them; rumors are quick to spread even across villages, but the elders still stiffen in discomfort, as though hearing such words from the mouth of the heiress herself make them more real. Hiashi and Neji are the only ones who do not visibly react, though Hinata can detect a furious spike in her cousin's chakra.

"You are a shinobi of Konoha," Hiashi says slowly. "You cannot abandon your duties to the village that has borne you and bred you on a whim."

Her eyes narrow. A whim? Marrying Gaara is not something she will do on a whim. He's wanted this for three years, from the moment they stepped out of the asylum grounds. She is the one who has resisted, who has told him to wait, out of her own indecision. But she has made up her mind now.

("If I were anyone else, this wouldn't be a hard decision. I love you, but there others I must think about.")

"Gaara is meeting with the Hokage right now," she says stolidly, because irritation is considered weak as well. "He is attempting to have my citizenship revoked." And then, because no matter how strong she is now, old wounds still ache every time she steps within Hyuuga walls, "Regardless, your point is quite unfounded. Seven years ago, was I not betrothed to a nobleman in Amekagure? If it is power you seek, the Kazekage holds far more influence than Satayo-sama ever did." Her eyes flash. "Or am I suddenly worth more to you?"

She knows instantly that she might have blown it all with such a blatantly accusatory statement, but caution be damned, she has to say it. She wants to see shame cripple their prides for just a moment. She wants to see them  
wince. She'll catch it- her eyes don't miss much.

(She is twelve. Her new sensei is speaking to her father, letting him know the risks of allowing his eldest daughter into the field, risks, the woman acknowledges, he already knows about. Paper doors are thin; she hears every word.

"Do what you want with her. I don't care if she dies out there; I'll still have Hanabi, and she's stronger than her anyway."

Her fists clench, and she understands. Her own father wants her dead. How convenient would it be for her to be fatally injured on a mission, so that he can easily place her title on her sister?

She vows then. She won't die, no matter what. She will come home after every mission just to be able to look into his eyes and know that she's proven him wrong.)

Hiashi doesn't blink. "Over those seven years, your Byakugan has finally began to show the extent of it's potential. As a fighter, you are still lacking in many fronts. However," he pauses to clear his throat, "As a medic and a tracker you are highly skilled. Your eyes see more than even your cousin's." 'Even yours,' Hinata thinks. "To answer your question directly, yes. You are more useful to us now."

"I am not a tool." She says it softly, but they all hear.

"You are the heiress," Hiashi responds, "It is your responsibility to be whatever the clan wants you to be."

Her throat tightens. She doesn't want to hear this, although she knew she would. "I will handle that responsibility from afar, then," she says. "There are many who are worthier than I am. Neji-san," she turns to him, watching smugly as his lips tighten, "Is stronger, wiser, and more experienced than I am. And Hanabi— you have been training her yourself since she could walk." Her eyes flash. "There is no reason to force a role onto me that I am not the best candidate for."

"It is your birthright," one of the councilmen says gravely.

"I relinquish that birthright," she says automatically, and for once she manages to bring an audible reaction out of them, a gasp, a sharp intake of breath that signals that they have been thrown off their guard.

"Neji-nii," she says quickly, taking advantage of the disorientation all around them to address her bewildered cousin. "I want you to have it. It's yours."

"I—" he starts, eyes still wide in disbelief.

"He cannot," an elder snaps, "He is branded."

And then Hinata stands, and in her geta she seems to tower over them. "I am a chakra specialist," she tells them all, though she is looking directly at Neji, "I know how to remove it."

Another gasp, and she knows she's done it; she's broken the elders at last. The thought brings life into her voice and a smile on her face. "I can break the seal completely. The marks will take a few weeks to fade, but they'll be gone."

( "Are you sure about this?" Sakura asks, her eyes wide with concern. "Isn't this going too far?"

Hinata smiles, pushing back her hair as Sakura goes through the scroll's instructions one more time. "I-I'm the only Hyuuga I can test this on," she says simply. She ties her hair in a sloppy bun atop her head, and on any other day Sakura might have laughed at the way it bobbed up and down on her head.

"Gaara's going to be furious," Sakura murmurs, forming the hand signs.

"Gaara won't have to know," she says, and then the pain hits, a searing, torturous pain that makes her entire body throb. She can't even hold back her screams, can't control her body as it twists and writhes. Distantly, she can hear Sakura's recurring apology, "sorry" said over and over and over again.

When she wakes up again an hour later, the Branch seal glows an angry green on her forehead. )

"You can't!" A councilman stands, glaring her down defiantly. He is one of the younger ones, and therefore a bit more lively. "It is impossible. Our founders made that seal to be impenetrable."

"All seals are like codes," she replies, smiling. "Meant to be broken." She looks back to Hiashi, but her father hasn't moved, his eyes seem more expectant than surprised, as though he's telling her it's about time, what took so long?

"Do you want a demonstration?" she asks. Neji is the only branch member in the room, as she knew would be. He's too strong to be ignored. Too valuable. His eyes are still disbelieving, trying to swallow down the hope that's surging through him. She recognizes those eyes- how long did Gaara look at her with them?

"Neji-niisan, I can do it," she says, and her tone briefly softens. I can free you, he hears. Unlock your cage forever. Throw away the key.

The room is still buzzing uncertainly when Hiashi slowly ascends to his feet. He holds up a hand and they fall silent. No matter how much power the council has, they are still subordinate to the head.

"Do it," he orders. "Do it, and I will consider your request."

(She stands in front of the mirror, practicing the incantations and the handsigns, mentally tracing her chakra pathways. The seal still throbs, and she wonders if this is the same for all of the branch members. Do theirs still hurt this way, years and years after they were given?

She has one shot at this. She can kill herself if she does this wrong, and what use would she be to niisan dead?

She inhales deeply, and then begins. )

Hinata holds back a sigh; she's halfway there. Neji-niisan obediently steps forward, but his eyes are unreadable now. He swallows.

"You know what you're doing?" he whispers.

"Neji-niisan," she responds, "I...didn't learn all that I know just for Naruto. I did it for everyone I love. And that includes you." When his eyes soften, she says, a bit louder, "Please undo your headband and bandages."

He obeys without question, a faithful branch servant to his main branch mistress. The unraveled cloth falls in a bundle at his side, and when he looks up at her again it is to make sure she's still looking, that she can see the mark of shame that her family has bestowed upon him.

Her fingers outline it gently. "This will hurt a bit."

Her hands move rapidly, her lips even faster. Only Neji can hear the quiet incantations as she chants them, sequences so long and complex that they could take years to memorize and perfect. The first touch is painful, right against the center of his forehead, the second worse. She touches only the seal, no skin, managing to brush past thin lines and details without coming to contact with anything outside of the green. He can feel her chakra burning into the old paths, or reburying, he thinks, because it hurt more to get them and maybe the flesh there is less sensitive, maybe the initial branding has killed his nerve endings there. But there's something else. It's as though his head has housed unimaginable pressure before, and she's releasing it. It's uncomfortable, but he doesn't complain, instead he watches the sweat gather on her brow and remembers his former teammate's mantra, that hard work can get you impossibly far. Just as Hinata's hands press  
against him for the last time, he wonders how hard she's worked.

She steps back, forms a hand sign. "Kai."

And it is done.

The council members clamor to see his forehead. The marks are still there, though he cannot see them he's always been able to feel them, but they're weaker now. The council can, however, and they see that their mark has already begun to fade. Deep, bright green has turned to a sallow yellow color, and the finer details have already started to disappear altogether.

Hiashi steps forward. His eyes are clouded with disbelief, but he moves with assurance. Before she can stop him he's formed the signs to activate the seal, and at this Neji actually flinches to brace himself for the pain.

(She's seen the seal activated before. A lower ranking branch servant spilled tea on a councilman's robe. Her punishment was imminent and immediate. Hinata can still remember the way she convulsed on the ground like an epileptic, the way her fingers curled and her gray eyes rolled to the back of her head.)

It doesn't come. Of course it doesn't. His eyes drift up to his uncle's, and for a moment Hiashi looks ancient, tired lines pronounced against a face that, once, was probably much like his. He steps back, looks at his eldest daughter with pained eyes.

Hinata steps back. She has prepared herself for a myriad of reactions, but not this one. Because this look Hiashi is giving her isn't reprimanding her or praising her. It's as though he's seeing her for the first time, and she can feel his sorrow and underneath that his love.

'It took me repaying your debt to your brother to get you to love me,' she thinks, but the thought isn't bitter, far from it. Mostly she's sorry for him, sorry for everyone in this room but her cousin, that they are so hard that she must release an age-old curse just to receive their acknowledgment.

"You...may go. May Kami bless your endeavors," Hiashi says, so softly and so gravely. She doesn't reply, just bows lowly and turns. Her cloths sweep all around her as she excuses herself past paper doors. And not for the first time that day, she wonders whether she's been too selfish, too brash.

Or maybe this is good, she thinks, as she steps past reverent servants and guards to leave the compound. Maybe it's about time I did something for myself.

* * *

Tsunade is loathe to let one of her top medics go, but she sees the look in Gaara's eyes and remembers the way Dan had once looked at her and cannot refuse. The Hyuuga girl has suffered enough already. Why not let her live the rest of her life in happiness? Which, she tells Gaara plainly, better be assured, because if he dares hurt Hinata, she won't hesitate in rending off his limbs and feeding them to Tonton.

The threat is unnecessary, he assures her. There is no need to worry.

They meet in the center of the city. Hinata is looking a bit bedraggled, which, frankly, is on the good end of what he was expecting.

"I did it," she says breathlessly.

"I know," he replies, and soon she's gathered tightly in his arms. "I know."

"It was hard," she murmured.

"Helping me was hard," he mentions. She pulls away a bit to give him a playful glare, and then dives back in again, feeling bereft without his warmth and sand embracing her. He's constantly bringing that up.

"If I didn't know any better." she murmurs into his rough burgundy jacket, "I'd say that it were, say, a forty year old retired shinobi who showed up to do everything that I did, you'd fall for him, too."

He chuckles. It's funny how, under different circumstances and moods, this very topic is a devastating argument, not part of a playful banter.

(He can't help it. He needs to remind her everyday what she's done for him. Given him his life back, and then some. Sometimes, she doesn't understand this. "I didn't do it expecting anything in return. I-If that's the only reason you're here, I-I'd rather you...you just left me alone.")

"I would have found you regardless," he breathes into her hair, and she chuckles and eases out of his grasp as easily as water and tells him that he's embarrassing her.

"P-people a-are looking, Gaara," she stammers, suddenly aware that owner of Ichiraku's is leaning against his counter and smirking at them, that his daughter is blushing pink as she ladles out a young kunoichi's dinner, that Genma, passing by, has just winked at her, and...

"Hinata!"

_Oh no. Oh no. Is that...?_

Gaara takes the opportunity to pull her close and give her the kind of kiss she'd dreamed about as a precocious teen. Before she can stop herself she's melting into it, ignoring the fact that her senses are picking up a terribly familiar chakra signature.

Kiba stops flat in his tracks to gaps at them, obviously attempting to piece together the possibilities of his shy teammate/medic snogging the Kazekage in the middle of the day, in the middle of the square...

"Hinata?" he asks, unsure himself.

Hinata freezes, pulls away from Gaara slowly. His expression is stolid as ever, but his eyes are laughing. She turns, sees Kiba and Akamaru (who is giving Hinata a congratulatory doggie smile) standing not five feet away, looks back to Gaara, flails a little, and instantly faints.

Old habits die hard, and she is so easy to tease.

* * *

**A/N: **YAY! Finally over. As you could see, this epilogue isn't so much a continuation as it is glimpse into their little trials and tribulations. :P Also, it's Hinata-centric, because Gaara's been a bit of an attention-hog in this fic. Hope you liked, and thanks for sticking with me! 3


End file.
